"Mr. Van der Linde, do you have a moment?" It was Abigail again, this time she had brought another young woman with her. The young woman had been severely beaten from what he could see out of the corner of his eye as he read his book, her lip was split and her left eye was black and blue and swollen.
"You need somewhere to stay? Miss…" He didn't look up at either of them.
"Kirk, sir. Jenny Kirk. I ain't much for domestic work, I was raised by my father and brothers but…well, they're dead, sir. Your woman found me–" Jenny began but Dutch quickly interjected.
"Miss Roberts is not my woman, Miss Kirk. I do not keep a woman to myself," Dutch replied quietly, not anymore anyway, "are you handy with a firearm, Jenny?"
"I am, sir." Jenny replied and nodded, her piercing blue eyes trying to catch the attention of Dutch's dark eyes but he simply licked a finger and slid the page over.
"Good. Have Miss Grimshaw see to your wounds and we'll chat another time about how you can work around here in exchange for food, shelter, and anything else you might need or want." He replied before looking up at both girls. Kirk seemed fierce and almost feral, about Abigail's age and he knew from the blood around the legs of her tattered nightdress that she had probably been raped or assaulted on top of being beaten. Disgusting, the shit women have to endure on behalf of lowly beasts like us.
"Thank you, sir." Jenny mumbled, lowering her gaze and realizing Dutch was staring at her stained night dress, she tried to cover herself a little and he averted his eyes.
"Dutch or Mr. Van der Linde are my preferred titles. There's no need to be so ceremoniously polite by calling me 'sir'. Where are the men who did this to you, Miss Kirk?" He snapped the book shut and began to wonder who he was going have confront her abusers. He had a reputation to maintain after all, even if deep down what he truly enjoyed about it sometimes was the fact he simply got to execute a bastard who deserved it. Practice for Colm. He wanted to think of something truly special for the man who killed Annabelle.
"August Johnson and Marcus Little will be at the saloon in town, they go there like clockwork every day around five or so. I can go with you–" Jenny began but Dutch shook his head and stood up, smirking at her warmly for a moment and gently running his hand over her messy blonde hair. She stiffened, as though she had anticipated him to strike her but seemed to relax under the warmth of his palm and gritted her teeth. She's trying not to cry.
"No need, Miss Kirk," he turned towards John and Arthur who were both reading at the table nearby, "boys, I have a job for you."
"What kind of job?" Arthur snorted, closing his book and folding his arms.
"Taking out some trash. Take Javier with you as well." Dutch chuckled as John shut his book as well and quietly stood up as Arthur reached into his pocket to retrieve his cigarettes and pulled one out to pop it into his mouth.
"Dead or alive?" Arthur asked in amusement, looking for his matches.
"Alive. I want to make them pay for what they done to me!" Jenny snarled, shaking a bit as Dutch removed his hand from her hair and put it on her shoulder.
"We take care of our own, Miss Kirk. Revenge is a fool's game anyway. Let Mr. Morgan, Mr. Marston, and Mr. Escuella deal with them, for now." Dutch let go of her shoulder and the young woman nodded, swallowing as she tried to hide the tears in her eyes and glanced over at Abigail who extended her hand to Jenny.
"Let's get you fixed up." The young dark haired girl smiled gently as the feral blonde took her hand and the two began to walk away.
"Got your eyes on that one too, huh?" John grumbled as he brushed past Dutch to go mount his horse along with Arthur who had gone off to fetch Javier.
"John, nothing happened between Miss Roberts and myself. I am a dog but I am not so lowly that I am interested in every piece of ass that wanders into camp. That Jenny girl is hurt, son. You can pretend all you like with me that you're some kind of dim-witted moron, but I know you and you know me. She taught you well, John. You should be proud of that." Dutch had stepped back and gotten between John and the path he was traveling, but the young man refused to look up at him. Choosing instead to glare at the ground ahead of him.
"Like her, I don't much like being lied to, Dutch. I saw her come out of your tent. You promised and you lied to me. Now she's off spreading her legs for half of camp because you're done with her. She lay will fucking Williamson last night, Dutch. You knew I wanted to make her a decent woman but you went behind my back anyway." John murmured quietly, gently pushing on Dutch to get past him. "Excuse me. I have a job to do."
"Happy hunting, son." Dutch snorted, retreating to the security of the shade of his tent to retrieve his book from the chair.
—-
"Sure is cold tonight," Abigail stepped towards the open tent where Dutch sat reading the same book he had been reading all day, now by the dim lantern light, "you got enough blankets, Mr. Van der Linde?"
"I will be quite alright, Miss Roberts, thank you for your concern." He didn't look up as he licked the tip of his index finger and slid the page over.
"Is Susan your favorite, Mr. Van der Linde, is that why you won't even look at me anymore?" Abigail asked, stepping a little closer and prompting Dutch to glance up at her from his book and fold it over his thumb.
"Miss Grimshaw and I are friends. We were lovers once, many years ago, but we are not romantically involved. She's in mourning anyway, like I am, her beloved was killed by the O'Driscoll gang. Same as my Annabelle. There are other men closer to your age in camp, Miss Roberts, surely you'd prefer to be in their company rather than mine." He raised an eyebrow and she shifted on her feet a bit, biting her lip nervously and playing with her own hands.
"I'm really fond of you, though. You're…sweet, compassionate, gentle and–" Abigail began but Dutch held up his hand to quiet her and slid his thumb out of the book and shut it, tossing it onto his cot and leaned back on his hands.
"I assure you, I am not. I appreciate the…sweet and tender feelings you have for me, but I will not return them to you. As much as you would like me to. Annabelle was the only woman for me and she was stolen from me a long time ago. I may take a whore from time to time, but I will never love another woman the way I loved the one I called mine for a brief moment in time. Do you understand?"
"What was she like?" Abigail asked nervously and Dutch gestured to the chair across from his cot for the young woman to sit on.
Why am I even talking about Belle to begin with? I don't owe this girl a goddamn thing.
"You and her were built very similarly, though she had the most wonderful hazel brown eyes I'd ever seen. The only time I could see those soft green flecks in her eyes was when I would hold her close to me and kiss her. She was the daughter of a rich ex-aristocrat, a horse trader and I stole her heart from her when she was seventeen. Of course, she didn't take very kindly to having her heart mistreated, and returned the favor of stealing mine for herself. She was steadfast, patient, annoying, and very intelligent. She loved literature, art, the outdoors, horses, and this lifestyle. I admit," Dutch paused, readjusting himself a bit as he sat on the cot and looked over at the young woman in front of him, "I mistook you for her when Uncle brought you into the fold. But you could never be Annabelle, despite how hard you might try to charm me by taking her mannerisms and attitude. I won't make that mistake again."
"I understand, Mr. Van der Linde. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." Abigail rose from the chair and tried to keep on a brave face despite the fact that Dutch could see the girl was visibly upset by his rejection of her. No, I'm sorry I led you on. I was foolish and greedy.
"Hey, Dutch?" It was Javier's voice from the backside of the tent and he turned, rubbing his face with his hands for a moment before acknowledging the young hispanic creeping around in the shadows.
"Mr. Escuella, did you boys make some friends in town?" He raised an eyebrow and chuckled and the young man nodded, slipping out of the shadows and into the light.
"We sure did, boss," Javier smirked and removed his hat, "got 'em tied up near the horses. Is there anything else you need me to do? I ought to get back to John and Arthur, we drew straws and I lost so, I get to take the first watch."
"Send John here for a moment, I'd like to have a little heart to heart with him." Dutch replied, standing up from his cot and adjusting his clothes for a moment.
"Sure," Javier nodded, hesitating about turning away for a moment, "so…I uh…"
"Spit it out, son." Dutch snickered, rolling up his sleeves past his forearms and running a hand through his hair.
"I know usually you like to be the one to welcome the women into camp, which I completely understand. You're the Dutch Van der Linde. But uh, I'd like to try to form a relationship with that girl that Uncle brought back. She–" Javier nervously fidgeted with his hat a bit and Dutch turned his back to roll his eyes before heading to the bookshelf to retrieve a bottle of bourbon.
"John has expressed an interest in her as well. And I would appreciate it if you would grant him the opportunity to get to know her before you make your move, Mr. Escuella." He opened the bourbon as the young Mexican nodded, still fiddling with his hat anxiously while he bit his lip.
"Right, right…he's your favorite, so of course he gets second rights…" Javier thought he had said this in a low enough voice that Dutch hadn't heard him, but as the man walked away from the bookshelf with the bottle in hand, he realized that the boss had in fact caught every word.
"He is my son. You would do well to remember that before you say something foolish again. Goodnight, Mr. Escuella." Dutch seemed menacing as he leaned against the post of his tent and stared down at Javier who quickly put his hat back on and nodded. His mother would've slapped the shit out of you for that comment, but she isn't here so I have to be both parents now. How did I do, Annabelle? Seems I do have a paternal bone in my body somewhere.
'Darling…' That voice, again. Though it was fainter now that he was off of opium, like a whisper in the grass, coming and going quietly. He ignored it, it wasn't her anyway. Just my madness and grief trying to trick me into succumbing to the neverending void of depression and despairing.
Javier left without a word, his face flushing a bit as this was the first time that Dutch had ever treated him coldly or threatened him. Slinking off into the dark and calling out to John to go see Dutch at his tent. Dutch could hear John groan mournfully and Arthur snapped at him, chastizing him for reacting the way he did though he could not hear exactly what the older son had said to his little brother.
I suppose Javier is right though, John is my favorite of the two. Arthur is more like Susan than me, taking no shit from anyone, though he has my temper and sheer brutality, he just lacks a brain. But John, well…he has Annabelle's sharpness, her patience, and her softness. I'm not sure what he inherited from me other than being a miserable little asshole.
"Dutch, Javier said you wanted to talk to me for some reason?" John appeared out of the darkness, refusing to look up from the ground as he walked towards the tent.
"I wanted to apologize for the incident with Miss Roberts. I rejected her and she isn't taking it well. I was an idiot, John and I'm sorry. She…well," Dutch took a sip of bourbon and handed out the bottle for the young man to take, "she reminds me of her. In a way."
"I guess," John replied coldly, taking the bottle from him and taking a drink off of it, "I just…I don't wanna be lied to again, Dutch. I know I'm slow and all–"
"Stop." Dutch snorted, rubbing his face with both hands. "You and I both know that's bullshit, John. You pretend to be stupid. Why, I don't fully know but it's your choice I guess."
"You do the same thing, Dutch. In your own way. I guess we both have our reasons for being the way we are. Do you really consider me your son, or is that just to placate me into being another piece on the board when it comes time to take down O'Driscoll?" John huffed, taking another sip before handing over the bourbon bottle.
"You and Arthur are my sons. I raised you both from boyhood to manhood, John. Well, I know I'm not supposed to play favorites as a father but you are precious to me. The way she was precious to me, John. We can never have children of our own, but she still gave me a son. I'm not much of a father, I know, but I am trying John." Dutch took the bourbon from him and took a drink, gesturing to the interior of the tent and John folded his arms and scowled a moment.
"I want you to promise me, the way you promised her Dutch."
"Only if you make a promise to me as well, son. That was the basis of our relationship after all, the one between her and I. She made me promise two things and I asked her for one, but she always got her way. I cannot be as tender with you, John. You understand?" He raised an eyebrow and the young man nodded.
"Never lie to me again, Dutch." John whispered.
"I won't, as long as you don't abandon me, son. She promised she wouldn't leave and she broke that promise. Don't you take after her, John. Do we have a deal?" Dutch stepped back and held out the bourbon bottle to John who took it after a while before extending his hand to Dutch and the two of them shook on it.
"I won't abandon you, Dutch."
"And I will never lie to you, John."
—-
"Your throwing knife skills are improving, Miss Kirk." Arthur chuckled as he, John, and Javier watched the young blonde launch another blade at the tree where they had tied up her abusers.
"It's thanks to Mr. Escuella, Mr. Morgan." Jenny laughed as her knife thudded into the dirt between the gangly boy, Martin Little's legs. He whimpered, screaming a bit in his gag as he tried to squirm away from the knife.
"Careful, Miss Kirk. You almost cut your hand with the blade on that throw." Dutch chastised her as he crept up behind them all, smoking a cigar and chewed on it a bit as he folded his hands behind his back.
"I'm tougher than I look, Mr. Van der Linde." Jenny huffed, folding her arms and stomping away in a powder blue dress to retrieve the knives she had been throwing at the two young men.
"That may be so, Jenny but the trick to throwing a knife is patience. Or have our strapping young bucks forgotten the value of restraint?" Dutch replied with a chuckle, taking the cigar out of his mouth and exhaling loudly.
"Oh and I suppose you consider yourself a patient and tolerant man then, Dutch?" Arthur teased, snorting a bit as he reached into his own pockets to find his cigarettes.
"I can be, when I want to be of course. After all, I'm nothing but a 'wretched beast wearing the mask of a man', right?" Dutch raised an eyebrow and Arthur scowled a bit. Embarrassed as he found his cigarettes and pulled one out to put in his mouth.
"I didn't mean nothin' by it, Dutch, I was just teasing." Arthur grumbled, looking for his matches now.
"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't drag my good name through the mud trying to comfort Miss Roberts, Arthur. You and that old fool. Spreading vicious lies about me behind my back like that. I raised you, you little shit." Dutch smiled, exhaling smoke through his nose and clapping a hand on Arthur's back, pulling him in towards him and shaking him a little. "Have some respect."
"I uh, put some money in the camp box, I've been feeling rather testy lately and they've got underground boxing in town. I've been winning of course, but I was wondering if maybe I could take John with me next time I head into town for a match. Maybe, fix a few things wrong with the cage matches." Dutch could see that Arthur had a few small scrapes on his knuckles and one that had barely scabbed over above his left eye.
"John's already slow enough, Arthur. No need to impede his development further by getting him knocked around." Dutch chuckled, glancing over at John who snorted and tapped Javier to ask for a cigarette himself.
"I know how to fight, Dutch. Remember?" John retrieved a cigarette from Javier and tapped Arthur for matches.
"Is that so?" Dutch inhaled and exhaled on his cigar again as Jenny came back with her knives and he held his cigar out to her. "Jenny, dear, could you be bothered to pause your training for a moment? Hold this."
He handed her the cigar and began to remove the two rings from his right hand before undoing the gold chains of the pocket watch and holding it out for her to take as well. She set the knives down while the cigar smoldered in her hand, carefully straightening back up to take his jewelry from him. He began to unbutton his vest next, sliding it off and tossing it to the ground as he adjusted the sleeves of his white pinstripe shirt.
"I really don't wanna do this with you right now, old man." John replied in an annoyed tone. "I might hurt you."
"Oh I doubt that, son." Dutch replied with a laugh, running his hand through his hair before he took up a boxing stance and gestured at John with his fingers. "Let's see how much you remember, boy."
"It's your funeral." John exhaled, tossing the cigarette away from him and removing his hat and tossing it behind him on the ground, shaking his head and taking a stance as well.
"We'll see. Are you going to come at me or what, John?" Dutch smiled, stepping out of his stance to taunt the young man as they circled one another.
"I know how you fight, Dutch." John kicked a bit of dirt at him, causing Dutch to sort of hop back for a moment with a delighted chuckle.
"What are you waiting for, John? An invitation?" Dutch raised an eyebrow as John leapt forward like he was going to hit him and went to sweep John's leg. But the boy had gotten quicker, recognizing that Dutch wanted to take him to the ground and grabbed it, yanking it up and throwing himself into Dutch's chest towards the ground.
It had been a long time since they had sparred together, though John had been smaller then and Dutch younger. He's gotta be twenty now, there abouts anyway, he's probably going to let me win though to save face.
They both rolled on the ground, trying to lock the other up but John surprised Dutch by striking him in the ribs. The ribs that Colm had once broken and he gasped, they had never quite healed right and the young man's elbow was a reminder of that day. Dutch reacted in a way he never quite intended to, immediately locking John's neck in his forearms and rolling so that John was face up while he was on the ground. He dug his spurs into the young man's leg, kicking in a downwards motion to cut at the place between the bones and arched his back, burying the other leg underneath John's back so that the young man was really choking now. John tapped at his forearm, panicked, what was supposed to be a friendly match had suddenly turned into violence. But Dutch didn't let him go, still squeezing the young man as tightly as he could.
"Shit." Arthur tossed his cigarette and jumped into the altercation, trying to wedge himself between Dutch and John. "He submitted Dutch! Let him go!"
Arthur headbutted Dutch, placing his knee between Marston's back and Dutch's stomach as Dutch growled and let go of John, turning his frustration to Arthur now as John gasped for air and rolled to get away from them. The young man clawed at his throat, coughing and wheezing as he got air back into his lungs, while Arthur and Dutch carried on wrestling with one another.
Fuck he's strong, Dutch thought as Arthur got a hold of his wrist and flipped him down onto his stomach, yanking it up at an angle behind him.
"I SUBMIT ARTHUR! You're going to break my goddamn arm!" Dutch roared from the dirt and Arthur panted, relaxing his grip and letting Dutch take his arm back.
"What the hell is wrong with you," Arthur hissed, leaning down into Dutch's ear, "Martson submitted."
"An old injury," Dutch groaned as Arthur rolled off of him and offered him his hand as he tucked his knees under him and held his ribs, hissing a little, "from Colm."
There was a tense period of quiet as Dutch and sons breathed heavily, trying to calm themselves down. Dutch finally sat up on his knees, rubbing his hands on his thighs and exhaled loudly. He waved away Arthur's hand and cleared his throat.
"I am sorry, John. I got carried away when you struck me there, it's never quite healed right, son." Dutch groaned and put a hand over where he had been hit, though it ached a bit, he felt worse for the way he had reacted. I snapped, I didn't mean to but I snapped.
"It's alright, Dutch. I have to admit, I didn't expect you to still be able to move that quick. I'm short a few more brains I suppose, but I'm still breathing so it's not a big deal." John panted, rolling over onto his back and wiping the sweat from his brow under the shade of the trees nearby.
—-
"Hey, uh, Dutch…you got a minute?" John stepped into the tent as Dutch lay flat on his cot with his hat over his eyes.
"I really didn't mean to do that, John. I just…snap like that sometimes–" Dutch began as he removed the hat from his face but John shook his head and sighed.
"I know. I…forgot that you were in a bad way when you came back without her. The ribs I mean." John gestured to his own waist and Dutch exhaled, running his hand over his forehead and chewing his lip.
"I think our sparring days are over, son. You would've won that bout if I hadn't–"
"I was gonna let you win anyway, Dutch. What would the folks think if I forced you to submit, huh? I know you gotta…maintain appearances, I guess." John chuckled, folding his arms in front of him and looking at the floor again.
"And you too. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Dutch went to sit up on the cot and John looked at the open tent flaps and gave a look to him as though he wanted a more private conversation. "Best to do this outside of camp, I think. You working on anything other than guarding those two idiots with Javier and Arthur?"
"No. I was hoping we might go fishing tomorrow if you're not busy. I mean if you are then I won't beg you or nothin'. I just–"
"I'd like that, John. Go get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning." Dutch interrupted softly. It felt weird to him, speaking in such a gentle tone even though John was not actually his son and old enough now that he didn't need to be coddled. But it was the way she would've asked him to speak to the young man.
"Sure. Goodnight Dutch." John replied in an equally soft manner and Dutch cracked a smirk, leaning back down into his cot and replacing the hat over his eyes.
"Be a good boy and shut the tent for me, would you?"
"Yes Dutch."