Chapter 13
Goddamn it, Sadie'd been right.
Arthur had been too frantic. Worse, now that folks knew that Arthur Morgan would listen to Sadie Adler, Hosea have been giving him that smile-that smile that shown he had an idea in his head. All previous plans have been put to shreds 'cause Arthur was dragged more and more into unpredictability.
He'd wished he could come up with a plan, but all of 'em included risks of some sort. It didn't help that Dutch never had a plan, or at least accomplishing a plan. He was a conman who got lucky and kept escaping. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for Arthur if he'd wanted to save folks and get out, but how could he know?
The failure of robbing Cornwall did lower morale slightly, 'specially since Dutch'd believed that this score would still be enough to get them back on their feet. However, the next morning, Dutch was back in action, the ever unmovable leader of the Van Der Linde gang, the source of support in time of peril.
Now that the weather had shown them a bit of leniency, there was no better time for the Van Der Linde gang to move on.
Boxes trembled, Grimshaw barked, and the wagons groaned.
"Arthur, wake up and start packing, son!" The door opened with an abruptness that would have terrified anyone else. Hosea tended to do that. "We want to be off this mountain and away from the snow by midday."
Sleep came harder these days. Sometimes, Arthur've felt himself having TB again, coughing up a storm. Other times, he'd seen Micah on the mountain, plummeting him with fists as his unprepared body. It wasn't exactly sleep deprivation, for Arthur would force himself to sleep 'cause he knew if he was barely able to raise a gun, the rat could strike at any time-this time earlier; but it had been difficult.
He hadn't owned much. His satchel, his lantern, some clothes, and a few torn pieces of sheets he referred to as a bed.
It took all of three minutes to clear the entire room. He'd cared primarily for his satchel and the journal inside of it. Nothing else. Everyone else around here carried most of their things, and while that applied to Arthur as well, it didn't mean that he didn't have favor possessions of his.
"So, the question is, where now?" Per usual, Dutch went to Hosea 'bout their new course of move. Probably the only times he'd ever listened to him.
"I told you, we should set up camp in Horseshoe Overlook near Valentine." Hosea retorted, always coming up with a solution. Arthur shoulda noticed that the first time. "We'll be able to hide out there no problem as long as keep our noses clean."
"Well then, let's go! Clean noses, and everything else." Dutch promised, his lips curled up into a smirk, arms spread outwards gloriously.
The older man turned to look at him. "Arthur, why don't we ride with John?"
Huh. That didn't... happen last time.
Hosea was beaming now, ear to ear. "Given your latest... changes, I imagine you would want to keep your little brother safe."
Dutch snickered. "I know you two like to talk 'bout the good old days... and what's gone wrong with old Dutch. Add the idiot to the conversation, and I might have something new at my feet by the time we'd arrived."
Hosea placed a hand on Arthur. "Come on, son, before you freeze to death."
Arthur's legs took him to the different wagon from last time. Well, his closeness with John altered which ride he took. Not a major change, and of course, the old bastard would know that something was different with that public display of protectiveness Arthur'd shown over a bond thought ruined long ago.
In the back part of the wagon, John was positioned on a cot. Mary-Beth was present as well, in case anything went wrong. She was the second best at dealing with these type of things right behind Ms. Grimshaw. John should be alright, presuming that the idiot didn't do something else like getting shot off of a moving train again.
"Me, you, and John again. Just like the old days." Hosea swung onto the passenger seat, his lips now a devilish smirk.
"Tell me 'bout it," he found himself laughing as he recalled an event that felt like a lifetime ago, "I remember when Marston here thought swimming with the fishes were a good idea against your instructions and almost drown for his efforts."
John's lack of ability in swimming was always a joke in Arthur's opinion no matter how much time passed.
Hosea looked, eyes gleaming in amusement.
"That night wasn't fun for him," Arthur said. To say Hosea was pissed was an understatement. The idiot knew he couldn't swim, and he did it anyway. With two nights of sleeping on his stomach, he didn't worry Hosea like that again.
The old man smirked. "I thought you two finally agreed on a truce 'bout that one, son."
"We did... though Johnny boy is too busy being in dreamworld to even remember this."
Before he joined the old man, Arthur had a distant concern. "Wait a moment, Hosea."
He took a few steps back to analyze the entire vehicle. He'd almost facepalmed for looking like a goddamn moron in front of Hosea. Right different wagon, there weren't the same issues as last time. Still, he'd checked carefully.
Right, he would be riding a different one this time. He moved over to Ms. Grimshaw with the women, settling up currently. They were riding the wagon with the fucked up wheel. One observation, one of the rear wheels was starting to become loose.
"Ms. Grimshaw!" He shouted. "You got a fucked up wheel."
The woman nodded, pulling lightly on the reins, but not taking off yet, the horses snorting in front. For the women, Arthur gave it a few good smacks to secure it back into place.
"Something wrong?" Hosea quipped as Arthur rejoined him.
"Naw. Just making sure. I like to check twice 'bout things." Arthur fibbed.
"Blackwater must have changed you that much," snickered the old man.
Arthur didn't say anything to that, reaching out to grab the horses' reins. He couldn't deny being eager to join the others in getting away from all this snow and going somewhere habitable. With a sudden burst of energy, he barked a command. Then the wagon accelerated.
Silence persisted for the first half of the trip. Arthur kept his eyes narrowed forward, mind blank as he overlooked the scenery gradually altered around him. There were occasional groans from John in the back, and he kept looking behind him whenever he could, stealing a glance to make sure Marston was still breathing. It typically consisted of him turning over, or just reaching out instinctively to scratch an itch, anything of the sort unconsciously. Hosea, even without doing anything, kept his eyes opened, also taking in the awe of what seemed to be a new life.
As the wagon traveled through the yellow grass, Arthur noticed Hosea turning to face the broad horizon, almost as if eagerly anticipating something. His demeanor fell, becoming crestfallen if anything else. His lips arched into a straight line, and his eyes became very, very distant as he looked far, far away. Arthur chose to remain silent. As it turned out, Hosea wished for a conversation.
"You know, I was up in this bit of a country with Bessie long ago."
Bessie. Arthur only knew 'bout a few things. He'd known Bessie's death struck a major blow to Hosea-that he'd eventually went back to a life of crime.
"I'm... I'm sorry, Hosea," Arthur spoke, thinking 'bout Jamie Gillis, back when he'd helped Mary retrieve him. The man also mentioned Bessie alongside Annabelle, inquiring 'bout the two women's whereabouts. Upon hearing that both Bessie and Annabelle had died, Jamie noted that it may have been a good thing for Arthur and Mary's relationship to have failed, lest a similar fate befall the latter. Arthur agreed with him then and he still did so now, though the reasons only increased in why he couldn't engage with a relationship for her after his death and receiving a repeat from when everything went down to shit. There was no getting out of this.
Still, he'd wondered if it was ever going to be a possible where he would be able to take it easy.
"It's okay, son." He sighed. "It's just I was always particularly fond of this stretch of road," Hosea admitted. "I was hoping to catch a glimpse of it. There is this very tiny creek that runs next to it. And alongside the same creek, there is this wonderful array of flowers growing alongside it. Sunflowers, poppies, lilies, all of it. We both loved it."
Sadness was clear in his tone, though he kept his voice level.
"You okay?" was all Arthur could voice.
"But don't ya worry 'bout me, son, I ramble much in my old age." Hosea chuckled dryly. "Am often reminded of the past due to something I eat." He leaned against Arthur and planted a hand on his shoulder. "How have you been? The latest changes aside, what's Arthur Morgan greatest adventure?"
He should have seen that coming. Hosea was in grips with Dutch, but the fact that he'd questioned him when he was previously loyal to him was something that the old man clearly caught on.
"I'm... alive," he offered, trying to pass of as sarcastic as he typically was. "Ain't nothing to worried 'bout."
He'd wanted to tell Hosea the truth. He really did. But... he couldn't. It wasn't not being out of ability to trust Hosea. The man would move with him through thousands of Pinkertons if he'd believed achieving victory was possible. He knew that. He hadn't doubt the old man would believe him. He wasn't afraid of changing the past. Hell, he'd wanted to go into it and make sure that problems would no longer be problems, yet with the end of those problems, others arose. He didn't want Hosea to worry 'bout that. Arthur wasn't that desperate. If there were problems currently, Arthur would handle them alone.
It was mainly out of the unfortunate outcome where the old man may not be able to take being told what Dutch would become-have always been. It could make things worse.
"Son, Dutch may not admit it, but we are both concerned 'bout you," Hosea said calmly, his hand guiding down his shoulder in support, the promise that he would understand, sending a pang through his chest. "I know Blackwater was exhausting. The failure of robbing Cornwall's train is stressful, even for Dutch," the man laughed, "you know that not everything is going to be according to plan all of the time."
Oh, so Hosea was concerned 'bout him being stressed. It wasn't a wrong settlement, but Arthur'd been stressed out 'bout events of the future, events that may or may not happen. Damn, Sadie really caught onto it somehow.
"It's not that, trust me, old man," Arthur said, forcing a smile at his direction, somehow able to look at those concerned eyes and still lie. "I'm fine. Like you said, I'm alive. We're living."
The old man sighed, but not in irritation, more so a fondness. "You also called out Dutch 'bout Heidi McCourt. I have never seen you like that." Hosea smiled. "I know Dutch tries to do things reasonably, but he ain't perfect. I'm very proud of you." A smile plastered across his lips. "You've always been obedient, listening to us without thoughts of your own. I do see you writing in that journal of yours from time to time, scribbling the days away as you keep your own thoughts bottled up. You should speak freely more often. Anyone could. From youngest to old. Dutch and I won't get mad."
Dutch would. Hosea wouldn't. Arthur reflected bitterly.
"You are worrying too much, old man." He replied, trying to play it off. "I ain't a teenager no more."
"I know. I know. You're an adult now. I heard it over and over again from both you and John. But you two have the lowest self-esteem I ever seen. It's a quality that connects you two perfectly."
He grunted. "My confidence is just fine."
"You keep telling yourself that. I'm hoping you two just talk 'bout things. You should. John loves you, you know. And you love him. Why can't you?" Both eyebrows narrowed in sadness.
"I will," Arthur guaranteed. "I ain't ever said I didn't care 'bout John. Just wish he wasn't a selfish asshole who'd abandoned Abigail and Jack."
They traversed through the rest of the trip, enjoying themselves as they talked 'bout the Pinkertons and Cornwall, and what everything meant. While their bond remained strong in this time, Arthur didn't truly appreciate the man 'till it was too late, and he was laying in the middle of the road in Saint Denis. This time, he approached with questions and received such in validations. He'd cherished every moment with Hosea so he didn't have to live with the indefinite sadness with knowing that one day Hosea would no longer be with them.
But he'd wanted Hosea's death to be more peaceful, for him to know that they would be okay. Hosea's end didn't have to mean the end of something. That was what he would have wanted. Just a new beginning.
Unfortunately, it didn't matter what he'd wanted. Unpredictability was normal in the life they've lived. Killing Colm was a sign of when that urge could overtake him.
When they finally arrived into Horseshoe Overlook, Arthur saw Dutch getting off of the wagon and moving 'bout at the construction. It occurred to Arthur this was different from last time where they've arrived by the time things set up.
Arthur and Hosea picked up the unconscious form of John and led him to the cot already built. His same tent as last time.
"You weren't wrong, Hosea, this place is perfect!" Dutch barked as they escorted the man's unconscious body. "We have survived the impossible, and we will do what we have to do and prosper!"
Both landed him gently, before turning to him with matching expressions.
"Arthur and I were 'bout to prosper in Blackwater. We were on to something big... then Micah got you all excited 'bout that ferry and here we are." Hosea said, disapproval clear in his tone.
"We have all made mistakes over the years, Hosea..." Dutch replied nonchalantly. "Every last one of us. But I kept us together... kept us alive... kept the nooses off our neck."
"Only to attract more attention and was ready to rob a train from a powerful man," Arthur added, his eyes narrowed at him in similar disappointment.
Hosea nodded at him in agreement, eyes still centered on Dutch. "I ain't got that long. I want folks safe before I go."
They stopped near the cliff, overlooking the horseshoe bend in the Dakota and the forests below, and the others followed.
"And now we are stuck... east of the Grizzlies and out of money... and a long way from our dream of virgin land in the west." His voice dripped in disapproval and disappointment.
"We are safe, are we not? Come on, both of you, a little faith. A little faith!" Faint irritation was in his tone. "We make a bit of money here, then we move again... head out around them, be west of Uncle Sam... in a few months buy some land."
"We've been through this just a few months ago, I recall," Arthur snapped, 'cause he heard this bullshit before. "And now 'cause of you, we are wanted fugitives."
"Would you just look around you. This world has its consolations." Dutch spoke thunderously. "We are surviving, are we not?"
"Off scrapes," he responded, keeping his face straightened. "If you just listen to us 'bout that goddamn ferry, we wouldn't be in this mess."
"I fear you two have been spending too much time together, Arthur." he looked at Hosea pointedly, a muscle in his jaw throbbing. "What type of worries have you filled him with?" Fake humor was in his tone.
Hosea didn't share the seemingly public display of affection. "Arthur is thinking logically. You ain't been acting normal lately." His voice grew in intensity.
"Your excessive complaining isn't helping the situation. Both of yours." Dutch scrutinized them with firm eyes that did little to hide his anger.
Now that all of the wagons were present, Dutch called for all of them to gather up.
"Not again," Arthur mumbled to himself.
"Listen, I made mistakes in Blackwater that I now live to regret!" For a moment, he stared at Arthur, and nodded, as if planning to take accountability and accept he and Micah'd fucked up. Arthur would believe it when he seen it. Of course, he had to disappoint him when folks began moving up. "I know that things have been tough... but we are safe now, and we are far too poor. So, it is time for everyone to get to work."
"Get to work but stay out of trouble. Remember, we are itinerant workers." Hosea imputed.
"Laid off when the shut down our factory to the north," Dutch concluded. "Now, get out there, and see what you can find. Uncle, Reverend Swanson... no more passengers." Some of the gang members laugh. Even Arthur felt slight amusement. "It is time for everyone to earn their keep."
"There is a town a little way down the track... name of Valentine... livestock town. All mud and morons if I remember right. That seems a decent place to start." Hosea advised.
Pearson spoke up from the crowd. "And... we need food... real food... that means every day, one of you."
Dutch walked into his tent and produced a small box. "And remember, whatever it is that you find..." He settled down the box on a nearby barrel. "...the camp gets its slice. Now, be sensible out there."
Once out of ear-shot, walking away from the cliff, Arthur mumbled sarcastically. "And you have a lot to learn 'bout sensibility." He looked at Kieran who actually looked sadden as Mary-Beth wasn't at his side for the first time in a long run.
Taking pity on the poor boy, he searched for two fishing rods. Unsurprisingly, Charles possessed some. He'd doubted the man would care if they'd brought back some more food.
Kieran looked up, "Hello, Mr. Morga-"
"Don't call me that." Fear and surprise crossed his face. "Arthur'll do, boy." He patted him on the shoulder.
"Okay, M-Arthur." The man was more comfortable with him this time around.
He offered, smiling now, "Come on, Kieran, let's go fishing, why don't we?"
"What? Don't you have-" he began.
"Bold of you to assume I do work out of free will," he chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. He would appreciate his presence this time around. "Besides, I have a feeling you know how to fish."
"Oh, you bet! I used to fish every time I can!" Kieran exclaimed, joining him on top of his horse.
"Tell me all 'bout it and don't mention the part where you may have gained a little weight."
"Have you seen yourself lately, Arthur? You might have grown a little lighter in all that snow."
"The same way you'd grown red spending time around Mary-Beth."
He'd really wanted to know 'bout Kieran Duffy.