Rosalie stared up at this woman, Eleanor Montgomery, who claimed to be her aunt. The situation was laughable. She couldn't believe it. It was true they shared similarities, as their thin faces, bouncy blonde hair, and large brown eyes were indistinguishable. It was like she was looking at another version of herself in a fine dress and lattice gloves. Eleanor appeared just as an affluent woman should, and Rosalie couldn't help but feel she was far, far from the society this woman was part of.

Did her mother belong to this family? Is that why Isabella had assumed she was part of these 'Montomgerys'? The situation was odd, and Rosalie had a hard time believing it. She was certain her father would have told her if her mother was from such a family.

Eleanor gestured to the chair at the other side of the table. "May I sit?"

Rosalie furrowed her brows as she gave the woman another once over.

There didn't seem to be anything harmful about her. If anything, Rosalie thought this woman was being too trusting of her. While Rosalie was no polished outlaw, she was more than capable of stealing from this woman. How was Eleanor to know Rosalie's intentions? Rosalie knew she didn't look like she was someone with a lot of money, with her worn black jeans, and sweat-stained black button-up. She looked out of place already in the coffee shop, but next to Eleanor 'Montomgery', Rosalie looked like trash outside a backwater saloon.

"Alright," Relented Rosalie.

Rosalie was confused about the whole situation. This random woman approached her due to the striking resemblance to her sister and seemed to be nothing but ecstatic to just speak to her. Did Eleanor have a screw loose in the head? There were plenty of blonde women in the world, and she was sure there wasn't a lack of them in New Orleans. Did Rosalie share that many noticeable similarities with her mother?

The woman slid into the chair without hesitation and held a white, satin clutch to her chest that glimmered in the sunlight through the window. Rosalie eyed the clutch, wondering how easy it would be for her to swipe it when the woman wasn't looking. It was bound to be valuable.

Eleanor glanced around the coffee shop as though she was looking for someone, ignorant of the plotting going on in Rosalie's head. "Is your father or uncle nearby? I-I don't necessarily want to see them at the moment… I hope you understand, but neither of them quite like me." She explained nervously.

Rosalie frowned and avoided meeting Eleanor's gaze as she reached for her espresso, wanting something to do with her hands. "You won't see him, so don't worry." She said bitterly.

"Oh, why not?" Eleanor focused her attention back on Rosalie.

Rosalie fidgeted. "Because he…" Her chest tightened, the words hard to get out. "He's dead." She finished with a frown.

There was a silence that settled over them. Rosalie refused to look up, but she could feel Eleanor's gaze as she let out a sad sigh.

"Oh... I... my dear, I am so sorry. I may not have liked the man or thought he was good for my sister, but I..." Eleanor lifted a lattice-gloved hand to her lips, struggling to find the right words. She eventually lowered her hand to her lap and gave Rosalie a sad look. "I can only imagine that Addie is thrilled to have him with her again. May they rest together. She was smitten with that man. They were sweet on each other from the moment they met."

Eleanor gasped and reached over to grab Rosalie's hand as though she had been shocked, her sadness dissipating instantly. Rosalie jolted at the sudden contact and switch of her mood.

"Where are you staying?" Eleanor asked, speaking a million miles a minute. "Oh, Daddy will be so pleased to meet you. We knew that Addie had a daughter and passed due to complications in the birth.., but after Henry mailed us that letter… oh, we had no idea what happened, whether you were dead, or worse, involved in that man's business." Eleanor clicked her tongue and looked off to the side at the thought of Henry's dealings.

Rosalie couldn't help but bristle, pulling her hands away from Eleanor at the mention of her father's line of work. "What do you mean by that, misses?"

Eleanor scoffed and waved her hand. "I never understood my sister. Henry was a thief and a trickster. She would have done well to marry an honest, wealthy man. She could have anyone she wanted, and yet she ran away to be with that man. I never liked him, but I know he loved my sister, and she loved him." She shook her head. "But love makes you do foolish things and fall for foolish people."

"My father was no fool." Rosalie grit out, irritated now.

This woman was supposedly her aunt, and from the details she gave, Rosalie was beginning to believe her. Even so, Rosalie would not sit here and let Eleanor speak poorly of her father's name. No, Henry was not an honest man, and did not make good choices throughout his life, but he was a damn good father, and would give anyone the shirt off his back. Rosalie would die on that hill. She would not sit by and allow someone she considered a stranger to speak poorly of him. Especially as his loss was still fresh to Rosalie, only about three months post his murder.

"It seems I've offended you," Eleanor said gently as she set her clutch on the table to reach for Rosalie's hands. Rosalie allowed her to take them, even though she was still irritated.

Eleanor hummed as she looked out the window, choosing her words carefully before she continued. "I was… only worried for my sister when she left. I–oh, this is probably all so confusing, and by your face, it seems you have no idea what I'm talking about, and that Henry never told you anything about Addie's family." Eleanor scoffed. "I can't say I'm surprised. He didn't like us much."

Rosalie understood why her father had avoided Eleanor; the woman was overly touchy and presumptuous in her judgments. While Rosalie wouldn't deny that her father had been a criminal who stole, lied, and cheated, she knew he was not a bad man, nor a bad father. Eleanor's words felt like an attack on his very essence, making Rosalie want to storm away, abandoning any chance to learn more about her mother.

But… but in the back of her mind, Rosalie was curious. She had always wondered about that woman in the old, frayed photo, with the thin face and neat curls who stood beside her father. Henry never spoke much about her, as the memories were too painful, but when he did, Henry seemed to describe her as an angel. A saintlike woman who he did not deserve, and he begged God every day for Him to give her back, and pleaded for an answer of why He took her away.

Rosalie knew she looked like her mother, and she knew it was painful for her father when he looked at her. He would brush the curls out of her face and give her a sad smile before moving on as though the interaction had never occurred or was unimportant. She would always catch him singing melancholy songs about a long-lost lover later that evening as he strummed his guitar. It was no coincidence.

But through that, Rosalie never doubted the love her father had for her mother.

"You never told me where you're staying?" Asked Eleanor, pulling Rosalie from her thoughts. "Oh, please, you must come to the house. Daddy will want to meet you, and so will my daughters… but oh, Daddy will be thrilled."

Rosalie cringed. She didn't know these people, and while Eleanor was wealthy, and probably offered the softest bed she had ever stayed in, the thought of leaving behind the warm, crackling campfire as John and Arthur bickered, or Hosea and Dutch told stories, made her stomach churn.

Besides, according to Eleanor, her father did not like these people, so Rosalie would not freely trust them. There had to be a reason Henry kept her mother's identity from her, and why they had never been in contact with the rest of her family. It made sense why he never returned to New Orleans. He was avoiding her mother's family at any cost.

Rosalie hesitated, glancing out the window. "I'm with some friends… in a camp outside of town."

Eleanor's eyebrows knitted together. "A camp? That doesn't sound safe, dear."

Rosalie bristled at the concern. "It's safe enough for me."

Eleanor leaned back and let go of Rosalie's hands, giving her another once over. "I see from your reaction it's safe to assume that Henry has… involved you in his line of work. It's a shame, as you're a beautiful young lady. Wearing such grim clothing… dressed like a man nonetheless…" Eleanor grimaced as soon as she saw Rosalie's face twist in dismay. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to upset you with my words. It's just… oh… I don't know." She held a gloved hand to her cheek as she chose her words carefully.

Eleanor sighed. "I realize I might have come across as judgmental, and I'm truly sorry. It's just that seeing you brings back so many memories of Addie, and I want to do right by her memory. Let's take it slow, and perhaps you can tell me more about your life. I want to understand you better, beyond my initial impressions. Please do come to the house, Daddy… your grandfather… would love to meet you. He loved Adelaide very much."

She pulled a pen from her clutch and took a napkin from the table, scribbling an address. Pushing it across the table, she stood from the chair, clutch in hand as she looked down on Rosalie, who was eyeing the napkin curiously.

"I'm glad I ran into you," Eleanor said gently. "I hope you don't think me too unkind for my words about your father. I don't mean to upset you, and I know that I… that we… seem to be from two different worlds… but know that I loved your mother. She was my sister. Please do come tomorrow. Daddy won't believe what I've seen until he sees you for himself."

Rosalie didn't respond, instead picking up the napkin and eyeing Eleanor's elegant, curly writing.

Eleanor stared at Rosalie for a moment, a look of longing in her eyes, before turning and heading to the exit. With her hand on the door, she glanced over her shoulder one last time, biting her lip, then pushed it open and disappeared down the street.

Now alone, Rosalie stared at the address, running her thumb over the indents the pen made in the napkin.

Rosalie was unsure how to proceed. Out of everything she expected, meeting her mother's family was not one of them. That was only if they were actually related. Rosalie didn't doubt it, especially as she bore a strong physical resemblance to Eleanor, and the woman had approached her. Eleanor's easy trust was odd, though perhaps it stemmed from an overwhelming desire to follow any thread that might lead to details of her sister's life after she left home.

That part was also a mystery. Rosalie didn't know why her mother left home. From Eleanor's brief explanation, it didn't seem like the departure was looked highly upon, whether Adelaide ran away, or left on a sour note, she did not know.

She would probably only find by going to the Montgomery home.

Her espresso was now cold and her croissant was picked at. Rosalie disposed of her dishes and wiped down her table before exiting the coffee shop. The relaxing, enjoyable mood had been squashed by the interaction with her supposed aunt, and she knew she needed to be getting along to the saloon by now anyway.

Rosalie entered the busy street and grimaced as she was hit with the strong humidity. She gave Blitz a gentle rub on the neck, the black stallion practically looking into her soul as she frowned. It was comforting to have him around. He had been her horse for years now and was reminiscent of her father. He seemed to be one of the few creatures that understood her, as silly as it was. If Blitz could speak, she was sure he would be encouraging her to track down Cormac O'Driscoll too.

"Things are wild, boy." Rosalie twisted her mouth in dismay. "I just hope I find him and we finish this soon. I don't know how much more crazy I can take." she stroked his neck, before fishing a peppermint from her pocket and feeding it to him. He ate it eagerly, tail flicking in appreciation.

Rosalie gave the horse a warm smile. She pulled herself into the saddle and kicked him into an easy trot, steering him downtown by the reins toward the saloon. The delicate architecture began to dwindle, replaced by more professional, standardized buildings of the business district and downtown. The streets were not as full of people, as it was late afternoon, the hottest part of the day, so most were probably at home or enjoying a leisurely activity where they could hope to cool off.

Once Rosalie came to the saloon, she hitched her horse and walked up the steps, ignoring the whistles that followed her from lingering men outside the bar. They smoked their cigarettes and drank their whiskey as they eyed her. She hoped to avoid the attention when she could, but she could feel their prying gaze as she walked past, practically undressing her with their eyes. The attention was baffling, as she was dressed in dirty, worn black clothes. Nothing fit for a proper lady. She couldn't understand what was attractive about that, but a wild animal would take anything it could.

Rosalie grimaced and resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she pushed the door open, her boots thumping against the hardwood floors as she entered.

The place was classier than the saloon they danced at in Tennesee. This place was much more proper, with decorative plants and well-taken care of wooden tables scattered throughout the establishment. Most of the patrons were dressed well in at least a fine button-up and vest if not also a suit jacket. It was quite a comparison to the messily buttoned and dirty slacks the small-town goers had in Tennesee. Rosalie much preferred their style to the stuffyness they had to offer here.

Even if she didn't like the energy the establishment had to offer, she knew that wasn't the reason they were here, so it wasn't as though it mattered. They needed to see if there were any leads on Cormac from his drunk buddies who had a loosened tongue from all their alcohol.

Rosalie scanned the saloon for Arthur and John. Hopefully, they hadn't killed one another in the time they spent alone. She wasn't sure how she would explain that one to Dutch and Hosea. Susan would probably have her neck for it. Even if she still didn't know the boys all that well, Susan was quickly becoming a firm mother figure for the boys. Rosalie couldn't say the same for herself, but she knew the woman tried.

John was by himself at the corner of the bar, a plate of food before him as he stuffed his face. Rosalie rolled her eyes at the sight of him eating. She walked over and seated herself at one of the stools beside him and ordered a beer.

"Hey, Rosie," John greeted through a mouthful of food. "Where you been?" He asked, scooping another spoonful of colorful rice and shrimp before stuffing it into his mouth.

"Just exploring," Rosalie replied as she took her beer from the bartender. "I got some clothes from the Spanish district and met a nice girl. She's real sweet, probably go see her again. Got some coffee in the French district and uh…" She trailed off, wondering how much detail she should go into with John. "I met my aunt, apparently." She finished, shrugging as though it was unimportant.

John paused his eating to give her a bewildered look. "Your aunt? Did I hear that right?"

"Uh-huh." Rosalie shrugged and took a swig of her beer. "I dunno what I'm going to do about it. She told me to come to the house my momma grew up in. I don't know much about her, but it seems she's got a lot of money."

John swallowed hard, diverting his gaze. "A lot of money… huh… you gonna leave us if their life seems too comfortable?" He asked, a teasing glint to his voice, though she could tell there was some real anxiety twinged to it.

"No, you don't need to worry. Not even the softest bed or finest silks could make me leave you." Rosalie grinned and pinched his cheek, giving his face an affectionate shake.

John's face fell flat, but he didn't pull away, allowing her to pinch his cheek. Rosalie let go of his face and gave it a firm pat, before she took another swig of her beer.

"Who knows, maybe I'll go there and rob them." Rosalie shrugged, thinking about how easily Eleanor had left her clutch on the table when they were having a conversation.

It wouldn't have been hard for her to scoop it up and make off with it. She wondered how easy it would be to rob the rest of them. However, that all depended on how much wealth they actually had. Eleanor looked as an affluent woman should, but Rosalie didn't know the extent of their money. It could have been all an act.

"Robbin' your own family is kind of cruel," John said, pointing his spoon at her.

Rosalie raised a brow. "Oh yeah? And what makes you the determinant of what's cruel? I saw you throwing those worms around the other day. Poking at them with a stick and then chucking them into the water. That was pretty cruel." She couldn't conceal her grin. "Those poor worms. What did they ever do to you?"

John's face turned bright red as he looked down at his bowl. "I ain't know what you're talkin' about."

"Mhm…" Rosalie nodded slowly, but she dropped the subject, grinning freely now as she took another drink from her beer. She glanced around the saloon, the hum of chatter and music from the piano filling the building.

"Where's Arthur?" Rosalie asked.

John scoffed and his face turned sour. "I could be askin' the same thing. We scoped out the business district together. Went lookin' for a potential lead on a job… but we started arguin' about what to do next, so he kicked me off Boadicea and said he'd find me later at the saloon. He's been gone for the last few hours. Dunno where he went." John scooped another bite into his mouth. "Ain't care 'bout him anyway. He's a bastard." He said through his mouthful of lunch, cajun sauce on the side of his face.

Rosalie quirked a brow.

If she had to guess what Arthur was up to by himself, she wouldn't know. Going off alone was something he did often, as he liked to go for rides and hunting trips with his own company. But they had just arrived in the city and Dutch had given them orders to survey the place for potential leads. Maybe Arthur wanted to avoid the nat in his ear that was John. Wherever he was, he would turn up, so it's not like Rosalie was worried, though she was curious.

It was baffling that Arthur and John couldn't get along for the life of them… bickering to the point where Arthur kicked him off his horse and told him to scoot.

Rosalie shook her head. "Is it that hard for you two to get along? I don't get it. He's got a bad attitude sometimes, I know it, but still. You got to control your tempter, John."

John looked at her as though she'd grown two heads. "Nah! I ain't doin' anything wrong! He acts like he knows what to do all the time, like he knows better than me, or like I'm stupid. I ain't putting up with it! I may not be as quick with a gun or as smart as him, but I ain't dumb." He set his jaw and grabbed his spoon with white knuckles.

"Okay… okay…" Rosalie cringed at his angry rant. "Just wish you two would get along better. That's all. Would make my life easier and camp more enjoyable."

John scoffed. "Don't tell me that. Tell the miserable bastard to mind his business and we'll get along just fine."

Rosalie rolled her eyes but didn't say anything else to him on the subject, knowing it was going to put him into a sour mood.

As the afternoon progressed, more men and women made their way into the saloon. Rosalie mingled, socializing with various groups under the guise of traveling with her father, who was moving cattle from up north. This story explained her rough exterior while making her seem innocent enough to avoid suspicion when she asked questions.

What surprised Rosalie the most was that a few patrons asked if she had a connection to the Montgomery family upon the first introduction. She would deny it and follow up by explaining she was traveling with her father, but it was still jarring that so many people assumed she belonged to this affluent family. The influence the Montgomerys had on others was bizarre. Had her mother really belonged to this family, and were they that infuential?

Arthur was still nowhere to be seen. Rosalie was trying not to be concerned by this, but it was odd that he just didn't show up. John was lingering at the bar, listening to others have conversations and acting as her backup if things went sour.

"Gentleman, don't forget that we got those boats coming in through the ports… are makin' us enough money for drinks!" Cheered a man dressed in all black, shabby clothes with a group dressed similarly to himself. His friends laughed along with him in agreement and tossed back shots of whiskey.

Rosalie eyed them as she spoke to a wealthy businessman about his expensive stagecoaches. He had been bragging about them for over twenty minutes, and she had grown bored. When they walked in, they immediately caught her attention, and now, with the help of their loud mouths, she knew they had to be O'Driscoll men. The lead Dutch and Hosea got from Harrington seemed to be correct. She needed to figure out where they were coming in from, as there were dozens of ports throughout New Orleans.

Bidding the businessman a farewell, tucking the knowledge of the fancy stagecoaches in the back of her mind for later, she made her way over to the group of men, empty beer in hand.

"Hello, fellers!" Rosalie grinned at them, widening her eyes and tilting her head to appear more innocent as she approached.

The man who had cheered about the drinks turned to face her, leaning against the bar with a lazy grin as he looked her up and down. "Hello, little lady. You lost?" He asked, his friends chuckling along with him.

"No, not at all. In fact, you seem to have what I'm looking for!" Rosalie grinned and sauntered over to them, leaning into him as she slotted herself against the bar. "I heard y'all talkin' about some boats… my Daddy is a fisherman you know! I have pretty extensive knowledge about these parts." She lied, batting her eyelashes up at him.

The man chuckled and shared looks with his friends. "I ain't know if that's the type of boatin' we're talkin' about."

Rosalie internally grinned. This man thought she was an idiot, that much was certain to her, but she was determined to play him like a fiddle. She only hoped no one else she had spoken to about her father being a farmer heard her say he was a fisherman now. That would make for a sticky situation.

"Nah, really!" Rosalie snorted. "Try me! I know every port here like the back of my hand."

The man hummed thoughtfully and ordered her a beer from the bartender. His friends seemed to dissipate as they found interest at the poker table, dart board, or a lady to keep them company for the night. It certainly seemed as though this O'Drsicoll thought she would be the one to keep his bed warm. Rosalie would be damned before that happened, as she would get the information from him and get out of there as soon as she could.

"Hm…" The man pretended to rack his brain. "How 'bout the Stuyvesant Docks?" He asked, taking a drink from his beer as he eyed her flirtatiously.

Rosalie also pretended to think, tapping her lips with her finger. "That's right here! Ain't it?!" She paused and pretended to think again… trailing off. "No, actually, that's in Illinois! Hey, you tried to trick me!" She pretended to laugh, leaning into him.

The O'Driscoll put an arm around her waist and pulled her into him, his hand straying dangerously low on her backside. Rosalie didn't say anything about his straying hands, though her insides were churning in disgust at the thought of him wanting to manhandle her.

"Ah, just wanting to have some fun with you little lady!" He grinned at her, flashing crooked teeth.

Rosalie was doing her best not to throw up and just smiled at him. "C'mon, try me! What port are you doing business in? Is it Esplanade Avenue Wharf? The French Market and Docks?" She pretended to think and tapped her beer against her chin. "Maybe the Henry Clay Avenue Wharf?"

The O'Driscoll hummed and looked up as he pretended to think. "Wow, you really did do your homework! You weren't kiddin' when you said your Daddy was a fisherman."

Rosalie pretended to be offended. "Why, were you doubting me, sir?"

"Not at all!" He retorted, his alcohol-tinged breath fanning on her face as he laughed. "You've jus' surprised me, 'cause you got it correct! It's one of the three."

"Aw, you won't tell me which one?" She pretended to pout. "Oh, pretty please?"

He clicked his tongue. "I dunno, pretty lady, you think you deserve to know?" His hand strayed lower on her backside.

Rosalie was trying not to reel in disgust. She was so close to figuring out what port they were coming in from. All she wanted was to swat away his hands and smash her beer bottle into his face, but she needed to know where the O'Driscolls were doing their work. He was playing into her hands and that was all that mattered for now. She could ignore her discomfort.

"Alright, I 'posse I can tell ya' jus' because you've been so sweet on me…" The O'Driscoll flashed her another smile and Rosalie returned it, her heart thumping in her chest. "It's the French Market n' Docks."

Success coursed through Rosalie at the information. Trying not to seem too excited, she let out a laugh. "Yes! I knew it had to be one of those! Out of the three that wouldn't have been my first choice though…" She giggled and looked at him under her hat, batting her eyelashes.

"Now, do I get a little somethin' for tellin' ya?" He asked, leaning down and squeezing her backside.

Rosalie laughed and tried to ignore the sickening feeling in her stomach as he touched her. "I dunno?! Do you think you deserve it? I had to really weasel that answer out of ya!"

Coming to her rescue, John ran over with a cry. "What are ya' doin'?! Daddy has been lookin' for us for hours! We gotta go, he's gonna be real mad if he finds out you've been hangin' out at the bar again." He chided, grabbing her arm and tugging her out of the O'Driscoll's grip.

Rosalie pretended to be upset. "Oh, but I was jus' having some fun!"

"Hey, what the hell?" The O'Driscoll looked like he was about to snarl at John, but Rosalie gave him an apologetic smile.

"I'll find you some other time! This has been real fun!" She grinned and gave the O'Driscoll a wave, John tugging her out of the bar into the street.

Once they were safely out of the saloon, Rosalie felt like she could breathe. It was early evening now, the sun hanging low in the sky and few carriages about. Some lingered against the saloon, while others were walking in groups to attend dinner. Rosalie was just glad for the fresh air even if it was humid as hell.

"Man, I was gettin' real scared there." John cringed. "Ain't like the way he was touching you, Rosie. It was weird."

Rosalie sighed and took off her hat, wiping her forehead. "Yeah, well, I didn't like it either. But I got the information we needed, so I guess that's all that matters. They're doing business down at the French Market and Docks. We'll tell Dutch and figure out what to do from there." She looked around and grimaced. "Arthur still never turned up, huh?"

John's face turned sour. "Yeah, I ain't know where that bastard went. We needed him! What if that O'Driscoll got violent or attacked us? We need his help."

Rosalie shook her head and put her hat back on. She patted him on the shoulder and steered him over to Blitz. "I don't know. He'll turn up this evening or tomorrow morning. Dutch can chew him out for ditching us for all I care. I'm not saying anything to him."

John grumbled and got into the saddle after Rosalie did, both wondering where the hell Arthur had run off to.