Rosalie stared off into the distance as she sat on a log by the dying fire. The cicadas sang in the background as they basked in the summer heat, creating a gentle melody as she took slow drags from her cigarette. Everyone else had retired to their tent, but as per usual, she struggled to fall asleep, the constant lingering nightmares preventing her from getting any kind of rest.
She wasn't sure when she would feel peace. Guilt would eat her alive before Rosalie found true happiness after the loss of her father and uncle. Any bit of joy or comfort she found with Hosea, Arthur, John, or Dutch led her to be faced with the sickening feeling of regret, and disgust with herself for having any inkling of enjoying herself. It felt wrong to be happy, even if it was fleeting.
When she was to consider what her father and uncle would want for her… It was not this path of vengeance to kill Cormac O'Drsicoll. If they knew her goal was to put a bullet through the skull of an outlaw gang leader, they would be turning in their graves. She knew that, but it didn't change the desire to track him down and kill him for what he did, slowly.
Throughout her life, Rosalie had followed whatever path her uncle and father laid for her. She would carry out their next scheme, be an actor in their next ploy, or travel to whatever town they had decided was their next move. There was never an opportunity for her to build relationships with people of her choice or pursue something she felt was important. She would always do what others around her wanted.
But now, faced with the deaths of the only family she knew, Rosalie felt confident about her desire for something for the first time in her life. She knew what she wanted to do, not because someone told her to do it, but because she wanted it. Cormac O'Drsicoll would die, and then, maybe, she would be able to sleep soundly for the first time in weeks. Her nightmares would be laid to rest, and her father and uncle could too.
This was all Rosalie could really hope for.
Dutch sold the items they stole from the Harrington plantation for whatever cash they could get, and then they were off. Rosalie barely slept throughout their journey to Louisiana. Nightmares were prevalent, and she was lucky if she got five hours of rest. They traveled down the continent, moving as long as they could for each day, determined to end Cormac as they traveled through the states. This drive allowed her to push forward, even through the soreness of her injuries during those first few days.
A week had passed, and Rosalie had healed up decently. The busted lip was almost gone, and the cuts she was supporting on her cheeks had also healed. She no longer had a limp and riding Blitz was not painful for long periods. That last part was a small success in itself.
They had reached Tennessee, and Dutch decided it was time for them to take a break and enjoy themselves. During the day, Rosalie did her best to not let the pains of the night drag her down, so she agreed when Dutch suggested spending the night at a saloon for some drinks. Rosalie felt no reason to burden the others with her misery because she was certain they just wouldn't care anyway. They set up camp just outside of Jackson, Tennessee, intending to spend the night relaxing there.
Dressed in her all-black outfit of pants and a button-up, Rosalie hitched her horse beside Boadicea outside the saloon. Though she considered wearing a dress for the occasion, she couldn't bring herself to put on the floral patterned clothes in her bag. The only other clean dress she had was the one she wore on her last scheme with her father. Wearing that dress for a night of simple fun felt unbearable to her.
Rosalie made a conscious choice in not wearing her father's hat that night too, her blonde hair wild and poofy, creating a lion's mane of golden curls around her thin face. There was guilt in the choice to go out that night, and to wear her father's hat would be a sore reminder of what had occurred just two months ago.
Loud music came from inside the saloon. The strum of the piano and boisterous laughter drifted out into the early evening air, warm light drifting through the open doorway.
Dutch grinned and threw an arm around Hosea's shoulder as he led him up the steps. "Ah, let's have a drink old friend! We've done so much moving around as of late, let's enjoy ourselves!" He cheered as they passed through the swinging doors.
John grinned and charged up the stairs, though he was probably thinking about the food he could get from the bartender rather than anything else.
Arthur glanced over at Rosalie with an amused expression. "You ever spend much time in these places before you ran with us?" He asked, beginning to climb the stairs as well.
Rosalie followed after him and walked through the swinging door. "Not really. I enjoy these places only for the music and sometimes the drinks. I'm not one for alcohol. The only time I came in contact with it was when my uncle would try to get me drunk." She laughed and shook her head at the memory as she and Arthur approached the bar.
The piano was loud in the background, two men crying tears of laughter as they sang with the music, beers in hand. The liquor spilled from the bottle and on their shirts, their button-downs darkening from the spill, but they only laughed harder as the musician gave them a dirty look for spilling on them as he continued to run his fingers over the keys.
"He'd try to get you drunk?" Arthur asked with an amused expression.
Rosalie nodded with a grin. "Yeah… I would never get alcohol unless someone ordered it for me, so he would order a glass and shove it in my face till I drank it."
Hosea slammed his hand on the bar, suddenly appearing beside Rosalie. She let out a surprised yelp and jumped at the sight of him. Arthur barked a laugh but turned away at the nasty look she gave him for making fun of her, smothering his chuckles with his shoulder.
Hosea grinned. "I didn't mean to scare you! Just wanted to order you a drink! I know Arthur needs one to get em' to loosen up, and I haven't seen you even touch a glass of whiskey, Rosalie. Time we change that!" He cheered, waving over the bartender.
Arthur gave her a feigned look of sympathy. "Apologies, miss. Ain't gonna avoid someone buying ya' drinks anytime soon."
Rosalie shrugged. "I suppose tonight is about loosening up though, right? I guess there's no harm in having a few drinks."
Dutch, also appearing out of nowhere, placed a hand on Rosalie and Arthur's shoulders with a firm grip. "Now that is the spirit! Let's get drunk, my friends! Enjoy ourselves! We got some more traveling up ahead, so let's get a move on and have some simple fun for tonight!" He hollard, shaking both of them by the shoulders. Rosalie couldn't keep a straight face as Dutch shook her almost violently, eyes wide.
Hosea ordered them all shots of whiskey, and with a whoop of joy, they all shot back the drinks. Rosalie coughed at the sour taste, her face twisting in dismay.
"I hate this stuff," Rosalie all but whimpered, her face contorted in disgust as she held up the glass to her eyes.
Hosea grinned and clapped her on the back with a hearty laugh, her body jolting at the forcefulness of his playful hit. "The more you drink, the less the taste bothers you! Let's get another round!" He hollered again to the bartender, who promptly poured them another drink.
Rosalie exchanged a glance with Arthur, who merely shrugged. As the glass was filled and slid in her direction, she pretended to shoot it, but when Hosea set his glass down, she swiftly poured her drink into his cup.
Hosea looked down in surprise at his full glass and laughed, red in the face as he was already drunk, so he didn't think twice. "Well, it looks like the bartender snuck over and refilled my cup!" He tilted it back and downed the alcohol without hesitation, before turning to Dutch and grabbing him by the arm. "I say we go play a game of poker. Or blackjack! Whatever they got goin' on!" The two men trailed off, leaving Arthur and Rosalie alone at the bar again.
Arthur gave her an amused look as they trailed away. "You really ain't like the taste of whiskey, huh? You like more of them uh… foofy drinks?" He asked, tilting his head as he looked at her under the brim of his hat, his cheeks also turning a bit red, though he didn't appear nearly as drunk as Hosea.
Rosalie grinned at him, as she could tell that he was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. "Hm… not really. One of the first drinks I had was back in Boston. This newer drink called the 'Manhattan'. Named after a place in New York. It has this sugary syrup and whiskey. Topped sometimes with a cherry—those were my favorite part. Very expensive though." She hummed, thinking about the fruit.
Arthur chuckled. "That sure sounds like a foofy drink to me. Syrup n' fruit? To get drunk? Strange concept, miss."
Rosalie shook her head and ran her finger over the grain in the bartoop with a sweet smile. "Nah, I only drank that because I don't like alcohol. I only like saloons or bars because of the music. It was my favorite thing as a girl. My daddy always liked music. He had a nice guitar in New York that my momma bought him, but he had to sell it for cash when I was about twelve."
"Do you know how to play?" Arthur asked. "I ain't take you for a music lover."
Rosalie stood up straight as if she had been shocked. "Now why is that?! I love music, and going dancing. Dancing is my favorite thing to do. And my daddy did in fact teach me how to play guitar. I can sing a few songs too, but I wouldn't say I'm very good."
The music suddenly kicked up as if he heard her, the pianist playing a fast-paced tune as someone began playing the fiddle. Another person stood by the pianist, strumming his guitar. Rosalie blinked in surprise, shocked to see that they had started to create a mini band, the two others being just random patrons in the saloon.
"Is this a normal occurrence in these parts?" Asked Rosalie, shocked at the upbeat music as people began to dance.
Some men got up from the poker table and started dancing with their friends, women taking up dancing partners, hooping and hollering as they spun around and moved to the music. Boots clinked against the floor and alcohol was spilled. Hosea and Dutch continued to gamble with the group who stayed behind at the poker table.
The bartender chuckled as he wiped his glass with a clean towel, leaning against the bar as he nodded in the direction of the people playing music. "You must not be from 'round here miss. Somethin' a lot of fellers enjoy is just makin' music and spendin' their time dancin' with one another. Nice way to spend the evenin'."
John, who had been stuffing his face with food he ordered from the bartender, came over to Rosalie with a grin, offering his arm to her. "You wanna dance, Rosie?"
Rosalie grinned and took his arm, pretending to swoon. "Why yes, I don't mind if I do." She turned her attention to Arthur. "You going to be alright over here by yourself?" she asked, raising a brow.
Arthur waved her off and turned back to the bar, ordering himself another drink. "Nah, don't worry 'bout me. Go have your fun."
Not needing to be told twice, Rosalie took off toward the dancefloor, though she couldn't help but glance over her shoulder at Arthur as John pulled her along. Arthur was left to nurse a glass of whiskey alone, choosing not to shoot it back like he had done before with the rest of the group when they were drinking together.
On the dance floor people spun around with one another, laughing and swinging to the music. The sounds of the fiddle paired with the guitar made for a light-hearted, fast-paced beat for the saloon patrons to cheer and holler to as they moved with their dance partners. Women held their dresses as they spun, twirling like a pastry.
Rosalie laughed as she and John danced, pulling each other in by the arms before swinging away, then pulling back into each other in a lively, rhythmic motion. Their boots thumped against the ground as they moved, creating a beat in itself as they danced along with the other instruments. John tried to give her a little twirl, but it was difficult for her as he was much shorter than her at his young age. She still humored him, spinning around with a laugh.
As they moved with the music, she noticed Dutch had taken up a dance partner, leaving Hosea at the poker table to spin around a woman with pretty dark hair knotted into a bun at the back of her head. She was a bit younger than Dutch, and he seemed to be having the time of his life as he spun and dipped her to the loud folk music. They laughed and Rosalie blinked in surprise as Dutch pressed a kiss to the woman's cheek.
It was fun to let loose, and Rosalie couldn't help but lose herself in the moment. She loved music and art, always engrossed in a book whenever she had the chance, the novel Arthur had given her enough proof of that. Her love of music, however, was something she had inherited from her father. She could feel him in the melody and the way they danced, the swinging and thrilling twirling bringing her back to her childhood when her father would spin her around whenever there was loud music.
Rosalie longed for the nights when her father still had his guitar, strumming the instrument late into the evening while her uncle hummed a tune along with his brothers playing. She would lay there and watch him when he wasn't showing her the chords himself. Henry would tell her stories of how he used to play for her mother, Adelaide, and how one of the first things he had done for her was play music.
After the next song had finished, Rosalie and John were working up a bit of a sweat and decided to take a break. They made their way back over to the bar where Arthur was still nursing the same glass of whiskey, watching them come over with bright grins.
"Can I get a glass of whiskey!" Shouted John, waving his hand at the bartender. He was practically throwing himself over the counter as he tried to get their attention.
Rosalie looked appalled as she pulled on the back of his collar, forcing him back onto the ground with a thump. "Absolutely not!" She cried.
John glared at her. "Why not?! Ain't nothin' wrong with me havin' a drink!"
Arthur snorted and took a sip from his glass, looking at her under the brim of his hat. "Ain't nothin' wrong with him drinkin' a little somethin'. They ain't do that up north?" He questioned, quirking a brow in a teasing manner.
Rosalie huffed and crossed her arms. "No, not at twelve! I drank for the first time at fifteen! Twelve is too young." She rolled her eyes and waved the bartender over as well. "But I guess I'm not his momma, so he can do what he wants. I don't like it though." She chided, looking down at John.
John huffed and rolled his eyes, before facing the bartender that was now looking at them expectantly, towel thrown over his shoulder.
"Imma have a whiskey!" Demanded John as he slammed his fist against the counter.
The bartender chuckled and shook his head, grabbing the bottle and glass as he nodded in Rosalie's direction. "And you, miss?"
Rosalie waved her hand with a huff, not wanting to watch John shoot the glass of whiskey as the bartender passed it to him. "I'll take a beer."
The bartender popped the cap off the bottle and slid it down the bar to Rosalie. She grabbed it with an attitude and took a long swig, before slamming it onto the counter. Glancing down to where John sat, she saw he was still holding a full glass, his face twisted in disgust as he smacked his mouth, not enjoying the taste of the brown liquid.
Arthur snorted. "Ain't like the taste, kid? Ain't gotta like it right away, no one forcin' you to drink."
Rosalie shook her head, blonde curls bouncing as she took another swig from her beer. John wasn't her responsibility—at least not really—so if he wanted to pretend to like whiskey, then so be it.
Her irritation over John's defiance faded away almost instantly as the music kicked up again. The fiddle played a sweet melody, one similar to the sounds she heard in downtown areas of Rhode Island as a girl. The alcohol was affecting her mood, the switch up of the sourness to the sweet joy coming easily. She grinned, looking over at Arthur with a brilliant smile.
"I love this song!" Rosalie cheered.
Arthur laughed with a raised brow. "You do now?" He let go of his glass and leaned against the bar lazily.
Rosalie nodded and tipped back her beer, draining the alcohol before slamming it onto the bartop once again as she kicked off the side of the counter. She grabbed Arthur by the arm and pulled him toward the floor, her curls bouncing as she grinned at him, eyes wide with excitement. "C'mon, dance with me! I can't bear watchin' you stand over here by your lonesome. I think it's time you had some fun, Mister Morgan! Don't forget that Dutch said we're supposed to have fun tonight, and I don't think I've seen you having much fun!" She teased, turning her back to him as she led him over to the dancefloor, her fingers intertwined with his.
"Oh?" Arthur asked suggestively but allowed himself to be led by her. "And is Dutch havin' this so-called fun he impressed upon us?"
Rosalie laughed and nodded to the corner of the room. "You tell me?"
They glanced over to see Dutch with the same woman with the dark hair from earlier. Leaning against the wall at the back of the saloon, Dutch had his hands low on her waist, both their cheeks red with alcohol as they spoke to one another in low voices. Their interaction was anything but innocent.
Arthur chuckled. "I suppose he is enjoyin' himself."
Rosalie faced Arthur as they came to the dancefloor, her cheeks turning pink as she took both his hands and gave him a brilliant smile. "Mhm. He sure is. I think you need some help with that."
Arthur seemed to stumble over his words as she grinned up at him. "I-I do now? N' how are you gonna help with that?"
The music grew louder as people began dancing around them again. Boots thundered against the hardwood floor, women twirled in their dresses, and people whooped and hollered. It was lively, an inviting scene just as thrilling as what she had experienced with John earlier, but now that she was here with Arthur, something felt different. Butterflies erupted in her chest and she felt a bit lightheaded as she stood with him.
"I ain't much of a dancer," Arthur warned, grimacing as he allowed her to take his hands. He was hesitant to move with the melody, that much was evident to her, but she was determined to make him dance, the alcohol giving her newfound courage.
A warmth filled Rosalie's stomach. "I don't mind. I can help you. I think I'm a spectacular dancer." she teased.
"Oh really?" Arthur laughed, allowing her to start to guide him with the music, swinging and twirling in opposite directions as the melody carried them through their movements.
Rosalie's hands felt small within his, his palms and fingers calloused, but warm as he held onto her, their dancing sending more warmth through her stomach to her fingertips and toes. The smile she wore didn't wean as they danced to the melody, and the grin seemed to split her face in half as Arthur started to smile along with her. There was nothing but pure joy between them as they moved.
Arthur let go of one of her hands and took her by the other, spinning her away from himself, before pulling her back in and returning to their original rhythm. Rosalie let out a surprised laugh, grinning up at him as she was hit with his strong scent of leather and cigarettes.
"I thought you weren't good at dancing?!" Rosalie asked with another laugh as they moved in opposite directions with the help of the lively piano.
"I ain't good at it!" Shouted Arthur over the music. "But I can dance if I gotta!"
Rosalie snorted but allowed herself to be spun again, though this time more gently. "Is dancing with me such a punishment?" She teased, knowing that's not what he was intending at all with his comment, but she wanted to see him squirm if possible.
"Ah, yes, it's worse than a hangin'!" He replied, pulling her closer to him, their chests against one another as the melody slowed down into something more gentle.
Rosalie and Arthur breathed heavily as they stood inches from one another. He looked at her under the brim of his hat, and she returned his expression of joy with a bright smile, her curls loose and wild around her face. Sweat lined her brow, and he, too, was riding the high of the fast-paced dancing, aided by the alcohol. They both were silent, the music turning into a low thrum, much quieter than the upbeat swing music filling the saloon moments ago. Rosalie's face seemed to turn serious, the brilliant, face-splitting grin weaning as the tone between them changed, the alcohol still thundering in her veins.
"Well, we don't have to keep dancing if you don't want to," Rosalie murmured in a low voice, her gaze locked on his as she caught her breath, her hands on his sides as he held onto her biceps.
Arthur's smile slid off his face slowly, meeting the intensity of her eyes. There was an unknown emotion in his gaze as he looked down at her, and Rosalie wasn't sure how to interpret it as he spoke in a soft voice. "I never said I wanted to stop."
They stared at each other, and patrons started to dance again as the band began another song. Rosalie couldn't bring herself to tear her gaze away from him, and Arthur didn't want to either, as they remained still, holding onto one another.
Rosalie wasn't sure how to interpret what was happening. He just continued to look at her. The alcohol was making her want to stand on her toes and drunkenly press her lips against his, but the still sober, logical part of her brain was keeping her feet stuck to the ground.
If he wanted to do something, he would. Rosalie was never one to wait around and have someone make the first move with anything. If she wanted something, she would go after it. But she had no idea how to interact with a boy… the feelings of a crush… she didn't know what that meant or how to interpret it.
Rosalie tilted her head, feigning innocence as she looked up at him, her hair falling in her eyes. "Then why aren't we moving?"
Arthur's face was still eerily serious as he looked down at her. She blinked up at him, a teasing smile slowly pulling at her lips, but she continued to bat her eyelashes, not looking away. Her heart beat against her ribcage as tingles ran through her body. He lifted his hand and brushed the curl from her face, Rosalie's cheeks erupting into a furious blush as his warm fingers brushed her skin, shocked at the forward action.
Arthur seemed to notice her reaction, as he only grinned in response. "You tell me?"
Rosalie opened her mouth to say something, but no response came out, at a complete loss for words at the action of him pushing a hair out of her face, and the gentle drag of fingers against her cheek.
Luckily, she didn't have to say anything, as there was a loud crash on the other side of the saloon.
John was standing beside a man on the floor who was in a drunken heap. At the sight of them, he waved them over with a shout. "I need help!"
The moment broken, they ran over to see Hosea had passed out, a broken beer bottle in his hand as he lay in his own puke. He was murmuring something to himself, completely incoherent as he lay on the saloon floor.
Arthur groaned and rubbed his face. "What the hell… awhhhh… where is Dutch?" He cried, throwing his hand up as he looked around the saloon for him.
John shrugged with a sheepish expression. "I dunno. I think he took a lady friend upstairs…" He trailed off, turning red at the thought of what Dutch was doing.
Rosalie huffed. "I guess Dutch was serious when he said he was gonna have some fun today."
Arthur bent down and picked Hosea up, throwing his arm over his shoulder as he walked over to the saloon doors. "Yup, guess so. But Hosea had a little too much fun it seems." He grimaced as Hosea stained his shoulder with leftover vomit, his head lulling onto his shoulder.
Rosalie shook her head and pulled out some money from her pocket, tossing it onto the counter to pay for their drinks. She placed a hand on John's shoulder and guided him out of the saloon after Arthur. "C'mon, let's get back to camp."
Outside, Arthur saddled himself on Boadicea and made sure Hosea was secure in the saddle behind him. Rosalie took Lady's reins, Hosea's horse, and turned to John with a raised brow. "You remember what we've been teaching you about riding? You think you know enough to take Hosea's?" She asked.
John nodded eagerly and jogged over to Lady, boosting himself into the saddle and taking the reins from Rosalie. "Yeah, I got it! Don't you worry!" He turned the horse and broke into an easy trot after Arthur who had already begun his trek back to camp.
Rosalie let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through her hair, fluffing her curls as she watched them stalk off.
What the hell had happened in there between her and Arthur? She felt like she was going crazy.
Rosalie grumbled under her breath as she saddled herself and turned Blitz away from the saloon, making their way to the outside of Jackson where they had set up camp for the next couple of nights after Arthur and John's riding forms.
After a short ride, they arrived back at camp. Rosalie hitched her horse and came over to Boadicea, helping Hosea off the back of the saddle so Arthur could get down. She grunted under Hosea's body weight as she tried to drag him over to his tent, albeit not that successfully.
Hosea whimpered as his head lulled forward, extremely intoxicated. "Bessie… I'm so sorry… Bessie don't be… mad… Bessie…"
Rosalie frowned, not sure who this Bessie was that Hosea kept whimpering for as she tried to walk him to his tent. Arthur came over and took him the rest of the way, Rosalie following after him as Hosea continued to cry for a Bessie.
"Alright, you dumb bastard, sleep it off," Mumbled Arthur as he tucked him into his bedroll and left the tent flap open in case he needed to run outside to throw up.
He stepped out of the tent and took off his hat, letting out a deep sigh as he looked around at the open space, an uncomfortable expression on his face as he let the silence of the night settle, Hosea's whimpers quiet in the background. John had already passed out inside the tent he shared with Arthur, exhausted from the little bit of alcohol and the night out they had.
After tying Boadicea next to Blitz, she strolled over to Arthur, the grass crunching softly beneath her boots. The cicadas sang in the background, much like the night before, as she took out a cigarette and placed it between her lips. Offering one from the pack to Arthur, he accepted it with another sigh, quickly lighting both of theirs with his matches.
Rosalie took a slow drag from the cigarette, looking out into the distance as Hosea's cries quieted. After another beat of silence, she glanced over at Arthur with furrowed brows. "Who's Bessie?" She asked.
Arthur sighed deeply, an expression of sadness covering his features as he lifted his cigarette to his lips. "Bessie is Hosea's late wife. She died last year. He's been a drunk since she died, can't say I blame him though. Bessie was a fine woman. Sweet lady."
Rosalie frowned, glancing inside at the tent where Hosea was sleeping with a pained look, vomit still on the side of his chin.
"Hosea was married?" Rosalie asked, surprised at the information.
Arthur chuckled. "Yeah. Not the best marriage, as they lived apart. She wasn't someone who belonged in this life—too kind. Hosea left for a few years to live with her, but she knew he couldn't live a normal life. He would see her when he could, but the distance was hard on em'. Hosea loved her too much." He took another drag of his cigarette. "Not sure any woman would wanna live this life. Surprised you're here sometimes."
Rosalie shrugged. "I'm not here just for fun. I'm gonna kill Cormac O'Driscoll, and then… I don't know what comes after. I don't think I can live a normal life, though. All I did was run with my daddy and uncle, doing little schemes to get money. An honest life? I don't know what that looks like. Might get kind of boring."
Arthur laughed. "Yeah. Guess so."
They stood in silence, smoke filling the air as they finished their cigarette, no one acknowledging the tension that occurred between them at the saloon earlier.