Rosalie sold her father and uncle's horse. It was hard for her to say goodbye, and she felt pathetic as she handed the reins over to Dutch and asked if he would speak to the stableboy in her place. She couldn't bear to be the one to sell them off. It would hurt too much, losing a part of them just for some cash in her pocket.
It was what she had to do, though. There was no way she could keep all three horses, and she needed the money. All she had now was the cash she had taken from Tommy, the shopkeeper boy, and the few dollars in her father's pocket. She had maybe thirty dollars from them—if that.
Rosalie was surprised by the kindness of this man, as Dutch had nodded his head and sold off the horses without as much of a protest or question after her request. He had given her the full amount of cash from selling the mares too. Rosalie had watched him take the cash from the stableboy and walk it straight over to her, pressing it into her palm with a pat on the shoulder.
At least now she had a little more money. At least 250. She imagined the horses would have sold for a much better price in a larger town, but they couldn't afford to bring the horses that far. Dutch must have cut the stableboy a deal.
Rosalie would be lying if she said she didn't expect Dutch to steal the money. She had prepared herself for him to sell off her father and uncle's horse only to deposit the money into his pocket. But he didn't.
Maybe she really could trust him. If he wanted to steal from her, he would have done it already.
After selling the horses, she pulled herself into the saddle of her horse, Blitz, and followed after Dutch to the supposed camp he shared with his friends.
Little words were exchanged between them as they rode through the valley. The grass swayed in the wind, the sound of rabbits scampering along the trail and deer in the treeline filling the silence between them.
Rosalie hadn't let her guard down fully. She knew it would be stupid of her to. For all she knew, he could be leading her into the trees away from prying eyes to murder her and take what little money she had. Or worse, have his way with her and then proceed with the murdering part.
Rosalie shifted in her saddle, suddenly alarmed by the anxious thoughts running through her head. Her hand dropped to the revolver strapped to her side, one hand still holding onto the reins as she watched Dutch trot ahead on his white mare.
If he did try to do anything, she would be ready. She refused to let herself be caught off guard.
But Dutch didn't pull anything on her. He stayed true to his word, and after about a half hour of leisurely riding, he led her into a small clearing just off the river. The running water was loud as it rushed over the rocks downstream. Birds chirped.
Three small tents were propped up in the clearing. A fire spit was in the center, steady smoke drifting from it as an older man roasted something over the orange flames. Two horses were hitched to a nearby tree, grazing the grass. A young man sat on a log beside the fire, a knife in his hand as he skinned a rabbit.
The two men looked up as she and Dutch made their way into the clearing. The older man blinked at her slowly, before getting to his feet and walking over.
"Dutch, I didn't know uh… that you would be bringing a friend back with you," Commented the man, raising a hand in Rosalie's direction as he neared the two.
"Hosea, let me have a word with you for a moment." Dutch swung himself off his horse. He gave Rosalie a firm nod, before wrapping an arm around the older man's shoulder and leading him away.
Rosalie sat perched on Blitz, her heart heavy in her chest as she watched them retreat with hushed conversation.
She could tell the older man, Hosea, was surprised by her presence. She could imagine why. Dutch shows up with Rosalie in tow, her frame bloody, battered, and dirty. She didn't have the chance to clean up, so she probably looked like a wild dog. The thought of appearing presentable hadn't even crossed her mind.
Not when she had to bury her father.
Feeling like she should at least attempt to be helpful, she hopped off her saddle and took the reins of Dutch's horse. She led them over to where the other two horses were grazing and hitched them to the tree.
"Wait here for me, okay girl?" She whispered as she rubbed a hand down Blitz's flank.
The black stallion snorted in response. Rosalie sighed and patted him once more, before she turned to face the camp.
The young man who was busy skinning the rabbit when she rode into camp had finished his work, now roasting pieces of the meat over the fire where Hosea once was. The black cowboy hat upon his head covered most of his face, so Rosalie couldn't see much of him. She could smell the food from her place on the other side of the clearing. Her stomach growled.
She hadn't realized how hungry she was.
"Alright!" Shouted Dutch as he made his way over to her.
Hosea followed him in tow, blinking again in surprise that she had hitched her and Dutch's horse without being asked. Dutch stopped before her, eyebrows raised in surprise as well at the sight of his white stallion tied to the tree.
"Why thank you, Miss Rosalie. That was very kind of you to tie my horse up for me." He commended.
"It was… no problem," she said softly, feeling a bit bashful under the gaze of both Dutch and Hosea.
Hosea stepped forward with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry for my rude introduction when you rode into camp. You must understand that I was not expecting Dutch to bring someone back with him. He was heading into town to pick up some supplies, so for him to return with a young girl was not something I was anticipating."
Rosalie didn't say anything in response, merely giving him a nod, hoping that would suffice. She didn't feel like talking much.
The two men exchanged a look at her lack of words. Rosalie wasn't oblivious to their shared expression, but before she could think much of it, Hosea spoke up again.
"Well, I'm sure you would like to clean up. If you go a ways down the river there it should provide enough privacy for you. I'm sure you haven't had much to eat in the last day, so once you come back Arthur should have that rabbit cooked up."
At the mention of cleaning herself up, she looked down at her shirt.
The blue pinstripe was discolored and stiff with her father's blood. Black splotches on her shirt, the fabric and skin of her hands covered in soot. She could only imagine what her hair and face looked like in comparison. She probably did look like that wild dog she was imagining herself as earlier.
Rosalie nodded again, turning to the pack on her horse's backside to gather her things.
Dutch and Hosea exchanged a look once again, before turning and walking off towards the campfire where the young man Rosalie now knew as Arthur, was cooking the rabbit. They knew enough to at least give her some privacy and time to process what had occurred in the last 24 hours.
Rosalie rummaged through her bag, her gaze landing on her father's black cowboy hat tucked between his jacket and other belongings.
Her heart clenched in her chest as she eyed the hat.
With a careful hand, she slowly pulled the hat from the saddle bag and placed it with the other things she intended to bring with her to the river.
After gathering her soap and a change of clothes, Rosalie walked through the trees to the clearing Hosea head pointed her in the direction of. Her revolver was heavy against her hip, as she refused to leave herself unarmed.
She walked down the hill towards the water, the sticks crunching under her boots.
Coming to the riverfront, she set her clothes on top of a rock covered in moss. She looked around her surroundings for any sign of someone creeping up on her, but she was met with nothing other than the sounds of nature. The river roared away downstream, but the area she had been pointed to was a calm section of water. It was clear, the pebbles and small fishes visible under the clear sheet of liquid.
Rosalie tugged off her boots and set them to the side, feet bare as she began unbuttoning her jeans. She tugged them down and folded them neatly on the ground beside the rock she had set her clean clothes on.
Coming closer to the water, Rosalie leaned over, peering at the reflection that stared back at her.
Her blonde curls were flat and lifeless, save for the frizzy strands that poked every which way. Blood streaked the side of her cheek, just underneath the dark purple bags lining her eyes. She looked like hell, a dead look in her eyes as she stared at herself. Rosalie looked like a shell. She was completely devoid of emotion or life.
Rosalie took a shaky breath.
There was an ache deep within her as she stared at her reflection. As she stared into the eyes of the lifeless girl in the water… Rosalie had no idea who it was looking back at her. This frail, empty girl, was bloody and battered. She was unrecognizable. She had never seen this person before, in all her nineteen years, this person was a stranger.
With shaky hands, Rosalie began to unbutton her shirt. She pushed forward, knowing she needed to clean up. But she could smell the blood on her clothes, the smoke, and the sickly iron scent from her father. She could smell her father's blood all over her. On her clothes. On her skin. In her bones even.
It brought the bile to rise in her throat. Her stomach churned.
Her skin turned pale, and before she realized what was happening, she keeled over, throwing up on the beach.
She sobbed as she grabbed at the river rock, on her knees now as her frame shook while she emptied the contents of her stomach. Barely anything came up, as she hadn't eaten much in the last few hours, but her stomach continued to force up whatever it could.
Rosalie leaned back and sobbed, pressing the back of her wrist against her face as she cried.
What had even happened? What was going on? Why did her father have to die? None of it made any sense. It wasn't fair. It didn't feel real.
She cried and cried, the tears hot as they ran down her face. There was a desperation in her sobs as she allowed herself to break down. She was filled with pain and confusion for the loss of her father. For the loss of her uncle. For the loss of the only family, she had left.
The pain was unbearable. It was nothing she had ever experienced before. Her chest was tight, her heart clenching in her chest. She found it hard to take full breaths as she cried. The sobs shook her frame, shaky hands trembling as she tried to wipe her face.
She felt thoroughly pathetic as she cried in her underwear on the beach, her shirt partially unbuttoned, her hair matted and dirty. She was wild and disgusting. The mere presence of herself, existing in her skin, made her want to start throwing up again.
Rosalie heard a snap in the trees. She looked over her shoulder, eyes wild as she tried to spot anything, whether it be a person or an animal.
She swore she heard the sound of someone retreating, but nothing showed itself. Her crying died down, her tears subsided and her sobs reduced to light hiccups, the sound from the treeline shocking her from the panicked meltdown.
Rosalie turned her attention back out at the river. Her expression was flat and her eyes dead. The water ran downstream, the sunlight reflecting off the water, shimmering at the occasional jump of a fish. Tear tracks lined her cheeks, drawing lines in the blood on her face.
Her movements were robotic as she shed the rest of her clothes. She reached for the bar of soap and dipped her hands beneath the water, beginning to scrub at her skin. It was freezing, but she didn't stop running the soap over her bloodied fingers, eyes empty as the water turned red and drifted away with the current.
She rinsed the remainder of her body, guiding the soap across her legs and massaging it into her scalp. She submerged her hair beneath the refreshing stream of cool water, basking in the spring afternoon sunlight as she squeezed the water out, her hair forming damp ringlets.
Rosalie pulled on a pair of black pants and slid on her brown boots. Shaking out her hair to make sure she didn't get her shirt too wet, she slid on a black button-up, slowly thumbing through each of the buttons as the birds chirped overhead. The river was loud in the distance, it calming her empty insides and shaky hands.
Rosalie walked over to the rock where she had thrown her bloodied clothes. She stared down at the crumpled pile, her gunbelt, revolver, and her father's hat placed beside it.
There were very few times Rosalie saw her father without that hat. Even when she was a young girl she didn't remember seeing him without it. The accessory was practically glued to his head. It was relatively expensive, and she learned later on from her uncle that it was a wedding gift from her mother to her father. Henry always made comments that his wife, Adelaide, had amazing tastes, not only in clothes but in men. It's why she had chosen him as a husband.
That comment used to earn loud giggles from Rosalie.
Now it only made her heart hurt as she stared down at the hat.
She missed her father so much. She missed his warmth, his smile, his smell, his laughter. She longed for him. She longed for his company in a way she had never longed for anything in her life.
Slowly, she reached down, taking the hat in her hands. Running her finger down the brim of the leather hat, she gave a deep sigh, before lifting it and placing it on her own head.
Her mother, Adelaide, really did have nice tastes. It was a beautiful hat. Heavy and expensive. Rosalie wouldn't let it go to waste.
Gathering the dirty items in her arms, she trudged back up the hill and through the trees towards camp. She could see the smoke of the fire in the distance, and it didn't take much time for her to break into the clearing.
Coming up on the fire, she was alone. Dutch was inside his tent, and Hosea was over by the water smoking a cigar. She didn't know where Arthur, the other boy, had gone. Not that it mattered. She wasn't in the mood for company or friendly conversation.
Rosalie ran her thumbs over the brightly colored clothing in her hands, the fabric covered in blood and soot. Her old clothes were a reflection of what she didn't have anymore. The life that was taken from her.
The bright, happy fabric was a contrast to the all-black outfit she wore now, her eyes heavy as she stared at the clothes under the brim of the cowboy hat upon her head.
Rosalie took a step toward the campfire and tossed her clothes in, the bloodied shirt and pants going up in flames. She stood with her hands clutched at her sides as she watched the fabric burn. The smell of iron filled the air.
Something in her died as the clothes crumpled, turning to ashes under the roaring heat of the flames.
She felt eyes on her.
Rosalie looked up, meeting the blue gaze of the same boy at the bar, his face emotionless as he stood at the edge of the clearing, squirrels in hand. He just returned from a hunting trip, but from the look on his face, he had seen her throw her clothes into the fire, and the hesitation in her movements as she did it.
They maintained eye contact. He didn't move from his spot on the other side, the animals clutched in his hands.
Rosalie was the first to break their eye contact, as she turned and walked over to her horse. She needed to set up camp.
Rosalie had pitched her tent and was sitting in front of the fire, Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea perched on logs. They followed through on the promise of food, as she had torn through the rabbit and squirrel Arthur had prepared, and she still felt ravenous. She thought she was being careful to not seem overly animalistic in her eating, but from the looks all three of the men exchanged, she wasn't sure how successful she was in that.
"Thank you for dinner," She said after she had finished, setting the tin bowl in the grass next to her. She was embarrassed by how she had torn through her food, so hopefully her appreciation made up for it.
"Of course, my dear," Dutch gave her a smile and a nod from across the fire.
Hosea let out a deep sigh and reached for the beer bottle next to his foot. He took a long swig from it before turning his attention to Rosalie. "So, wanna tell us more about you, Miss Rosalie? Where are you from? You have a very firm way of speaking."
Rosalie rubbed her hands together, leaning closer to the fire.
She didn't say anything at first, wondering how to explain what had led her to where she was now without giving too much detail. She didn't want to bore them or overshare. Some things she wanted to keep to herself too. All she had of her father and uncle now were their memories. They were special to her, and she didn't know yet if these men were completely trustworthy. It would hurt in a special kind of way if she wasted telling her happy memories on these men only for them to betray her.
"I grew up with my Daddy and Uncle," Rosalie began carefully, keeping her eyes on the flames. "I didn't know my Momma. She died of a sickness when I was a young girl. My Daddy was always someone who thirsted for adventure, so he decided when I was ten or so that living up North wasn't serving us anymore. I was born in Massachusetts, but we moved around throughout my childhood. Lived in New York for a while, then Rhode Island, and back to Boston. But like I said, my Daddy had a thirst for adventure, and when he decided he wanted to move westward, my Uncle Kurt was ready to follow him out there."
Dutch rubbed the bottom half as he listened, a pondering look on his face. "Is it nice up there? I've never been, but I've heard people talk of how vast cities like Boston are. Puts places like Saint Denis to shame."
Rosalie smiled, a misty expression covering her features as she remembered her home growing up. "It's green and vast. Mountainous. A beautiful place, but the cities are crowded with people of all different origins. It's expensive, and there's not much room. We mostly came into contact with Germans though, as my Grand Daddy came over here from Germany with my Daddy and Uncle when they were young."
Hosea took another drink of his beer. "So your Daddy and Uncles were Yankees, I assume?"
Rosalie laughed. "Yes, they did fight in the war. Taught me to shoot. My Daddy was swift with a gun, but my uncle not so much. He was one for coming up with clever schemes to get us any money we could."
Realizing what she had shared, Rosalie paled.
The conversation was comfortable, and she had lost herself in the ease of it. She didn't know what kinds of men these were. What if they were good, honest people who did odd jobs on their way through towns to get by? The last thing she wanted was to tarnish the opinion they had of her already. She had only just met them… what if they thought of her as nothing more than a conniving thief? A dirty woman?
She must have shown the sheepishness on her face, as Hosea barked a laugh.
"Why, I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so frightened in their life!" He pressed a hand to the other side of his face, alcohol spilling from his beer bottle as he laughed so hard, his face turning red.
Dutch couldn't help but laugh with him, though not nearly as loud as Hosea, who seemed to think Rosalie had said the funniest thing he had ever heard. Even Arthur chuckled under his hat. It was the most she had really heard from the young man since she had arrived in camp earlier that day, soft laughter coming from him as he poked at the fire.
"Sorry, um… what's so funny?" Asked Rosalie timidly, hoping they weren't putting on a show before parading her into town to deliver her to the sheriff.
"Because… Hosea is a con man if I've ever seen one…" Dutch continued to laugh, pointing to his friend seated next to him. "Maybe a terrible one, but he's definitely not what I would call an honest man."
Rosalie looked between the two in surprise. Out of all things, she had not anticipated these nice men to be nothing more than swindlers. Just like her Uncle and Daddy, these men did not play by the rules of the law.
While it should have made her look at them in displeasure, she couldn't help but feel comforted by the normality.
"Oh?" Offered up Rosalie, looking at them with interest. "How so?"
"I met Dutch on my way to Chicago. I pretended to be in desperate need, that I was a wealthy man who had business in Italy I needed to get back to. I told him so long as he invested in my safe return back to Italy, I would make sure to send him a nice reward when I arrived." Hosea laughed, holding a hand to his forehead as he shook his head.
"Only…" Dutch laughed and hit his friend on the shoulder. "Only I had stolen everything off him without him even noticing! To my surprise, he fessed up that he was lying, and instead of getting into a mean fight over it, we laughed over a few drinks."
Rosalie couldn't help the grin that pulled at her lips. It wasn't the first time she had heard of a con like that, and it made her warmly think back to her father in the fancy Italian clothes he had snatched off of mannequins in stores.
"My Daddy used to pretend he was an Italian Businessman too. He would snag fancy clothes from stores. Pretend he was trying them on, only to walk out casually when the store owners were distracted." Her grin widened at the memory. "He would put me in a pretty dress and walk around the Manhattan district where all the business people flaunt. He would conveniently forget his wallet to pay for meals, carriage rides, and even goods. You would be surprised at how often people gave him free stuff just because he was dressed nice."
"Hey, that's a good one, Hosea." Chuckled Arthur, looking over at the older man from under his hat. "'M surprised you ain't thought of that one yet."
"Shut up, Arthur." Hosea rolled his eyes. "I've had plenty of good schemes! That Italian business one does work. Rosalie is proof of that!"
Rosalie couldn't help but laugh at their antics.
Dutch leaned forward, and suddenly all business. "So, you've lied, cheated… you ever robbed or stolen a wagon before, miss?"
Rosalie looked at him in surprise. She was glad to know these men were similar to her. If she had to lead a life of normalcy, one that was prim, proper, one of a real lady, Rosalie wasn't sure she would be able to function. Thieving was what she had known all her life. Her uncle Kurt had even pushed her to come up with her own schemes, so if she were forced to change her way of life now… she was not sure she would be capable of it. Her mind craved it.
But Rosalie had never done anything like that before. Stolen small items from the store. Maybe a few crates of supplies, but a whole wagon? She wasn't sure she had the skillset for something like that.
"Uh… No, I have not." Rosalie responded slowly, the uncertainty in her voice evident.
Dutch leaned back, hands planted on his knees. "Well, if you would like to give it a try, there's talk of a payroll wagon coming through here in two days' time. Coming up this way from North Carolina. Might be interesting. I overheard from someone at the train station that it's supposed to have a decent amount of cash."
"It's ain't all that hard to steal one." Scoffed Arthur, crossing his arms. "Ya' jus' kick the guy outta the wagon 'n take the reins."
There was a smugness about him, making Rosalie think he had done it multiple times before.
"I can show ya' how to do it." He added.
Dutch laughed. "Now, I don't think so. If Rosalie is interested, there's no way we're gonna send you and her alone to do it. She's never done it before, and you're still an amateur at that yourself. You've only stolen a wagon once or twice."
Arthur shifted, grumbling as he tilted his head down, the brim of his hat covering his face. Rosalie could tell he was embarrassed by Dutch putting him on the spot like that. She was surprised he was so eager to take her out to steal a wagon, and he even seemed boastful about being able to complete the task.
"Why are we not just robbing the wagon? Why steal the entire thing?" Asked Rosalie.
Hosea chuckled, sharing a look with Dutch. "Askin' why we don't just rob it… never heard a lady speak like that before. Well, to answer your question, it's because the wagons they usually come in are high quality. I know a few ranchers nearby who'll pay nicely for them."
It made enough sense to her.
"Based on your questions, I think it's safe to say you're interested?" Dutch asked, raising a brow.
Rosalie liked the way these men talked. The way they spoke about the next job, the reminiscing over past swindles… it made her feel like she was speaking to her father and uncle. It was something she always loved with them—to have a debrief around the fire. She craved the company.
She was afraid if she said no, or worse, failed, this group would consider her to be nothing more than dead weight and leave her behind. Rosalie couldn't afford to say no. The thought of potentially losing something similar to what she had with her father and uncle… she wouldn't know where to go if they left her behind.
"Okay, I'll do it." Rosalie gave Dutch a firm nod.
He grinned. "Great."
The group went to sleep not too long after. Rosalie crawled into her tent, the bedroll cold as she pulled the covers over her body. She lay awake, eyes on the black cowboy hat resting on top of her bundle of clothes on the other side of the tent.
While the company of these men were nice, she knew she couldn't let her guard down fully. They weren't her father and uncle. She couldn't delude herself into thinking they were completely safe for her to consider them family.
No one would be family to her. Not in the way her father and uncle were. Nothing could replace them.
Rosalie sniffled as tears filled her eyes. She squeezed them shut as they ran down her face. Curling in on herself, she couldn't help but sob, only hoping everyone was asleep and couldn't hear.