Author's note: Welcome to the bitter end. I am working on finishing I Promised Your Mother, like I mentioned a while back, I've got my own literary projects I've been working on. It's just a longer process than I initially anticipated. This is a considerably long chapter. Thanks for reading.
"Maybe we ought to go back," John tugged on his reins and looked over his shoulder at the fortress in the distance, "just drag him outta there before he does something stupid."
"For what?" Sadie scoffed in response, backing her own horse up now until she was side by side with him. "No wonder your boy won't shut up about how wonderful that old bastard is, you can't let him go either! Let that damn fool die if that's what he wants!"
"Maybe." He grumbled back, leaning on the pommel of the saddle as he struggled with old loyalties and his new life's responsibilities. There was a long pause between them as she struggled with whether or not she should ask the question that had seemed to be on both her and Trelawny's mind before they had mounted a rescue effort.
"He is that boy's daddy. Ain't he, John?"
"What?" He shook his head and began to chuckle, though she could tell he was trying to actively avoid having that particular conversation. She ran her tongue over her teeth a minute, half her mouth held up in a sort of snarl position as she glanced down and away from him.
"Sorry. I know that's a sore subject between ya'll. I just don't get it, John. You blindly devoted yourself to that…animal of a man since you were a kid. And that boy, well why would that man be so keen to lift a finger if he didn't know somewhere deep down that…y'know. I know I shoulda told you from the get go that he was my informant but–"
"He raised me, Sadie. Him and his woman. Though, I certainly experienced a lot more tender loving care from her than I ever did from him…well, he had moments, I guess. He won't actually pull the damn trigger on me on account of his dead wife and I, well…I can't do it on her account either. As far as the boy is concerned, he is mine and that's that. I'm sick of ya'll speculating which man knocked up my wife. It weren't Javier, or Uncle, or Dutch. That boy is my son, even if I don't believe it myself sometimes or the rest of you." He sighed, touching the top of his hat with one of his gloved hands as though he were trying to readjust it.
"I've been meaning to ask…who wrote to who, anyway? Did you seek out Dutch or did he seek out you?" He said after a while, letting go of the hat and shifting his weight in the saddle.
"He found me. Rather, he sent someone to find me. One of them natives. Always signed his letters with 'Your old friend' like I wouldn't recall what his damn handwriting looked like. I actually ignored the first couple of letters, tore 'em up in front of the messenger, and then he wanted to meet at my old place. Where…" her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat, "where he, Arthur, and Micah found me."
"What made you change your mind?" John asked softly as she shook her head and inhaled sharply through her nose, half closing her eyes.
"He said he wanted to do right by the folks that fell. Wanted to do right by Arthur. Said he regretted the way things went that night. You know how convincing he can be sometimes! The rotten bastard!" She shook her head and huffed. "Y'know, when we went to make sure that bastard Colm would swing, he and Arthur talked a lot of shit at each other over staying calm. I uh…I thought I could but I didn't."
"He didn't lecture you. He let you go apeshit and had your back instead of leavin' you behind like he could've, I know. You told me. See, that was the Dutch I remember. I just wish he would remember himself sometimes. I…I know it's foolhardy to give a damn about him now, I do, but I never would've expected him to come for me. Not after…" John mumbled back, sniffing audibly and fidgeting with his gloves.
"When he told me he wanted us to meet up and take down Micah, I didn't want to initially. Hell, I was fine doin' it myself with or without his help. But…the weird thing is, John," she glanced up and over at him now, "he said he wouldn't do it without you bein' involved too. He was adamant. He said, 'I owe that man his vengeance, I owe my…son…a chance to avenge his brother in arms.' And, I hate to say it, but we wouldn't of gotten that rat without him."
"Probably just wanted the numbers, to give himself a surefire advantage in the situation. He's made it pretty fuckin' clear he doesn't give a shit about anybody, Sadie. Why even speculate on it? It's done." John snorted, folding his arms and glancing over his shoulder again. He knew what she was getting at, but given his conversations with Dutch recently it seemed more and more apparent that the man had made his choice. Maybe it was on account of guilt or remorse like he wanted to believe, especially when Dutch had come for him, though he certainly bitched about it the entire time.
He thought back to when Dutch was freeing himself and essentially had called out to Annabelle, as though she were there and only he could communicate with her. Hosea had been right when he said those two were poison to each other, hell most of his formative years with the two of them together had been proof of that enough. Belle enjoyed pissing off Dutch as often as she could, and he seemed to thoroughly enjoy punishing her for it when he had an opportunity. At least with Miss O'Shea, the old man had chosen to simply ignore her outright even when she tried to needle him intentionally to get a rise out of him. Hell, even the other night women who came and went after Annabelle knew when to cut their losses.
John smirked a bit, recalling a conversation he had overheard between Abigail and Molly when Dutch was giving her the silent treatment. 'Does he still burn fer a goddamn dead woman when he's got a livin' and breathin' one ready to do whatever it takes for him!' Poor lady, John thought as his smirk faded in the awkward silence, she was just being used up for revenge and a good time. He had to wonder if Molly would've left their company sooner had she known that her older brother was partially responsible for the death of Dutch's wife, and the only reason Dutch kept her around was to spite a dead man.
"Do you wanna go back for him, John? Tell me honestly."
"I told him if he fell, I'd bury him with her. And I intend to keep that promise."
—-
"Mr. Cornwall!" Dutch called out from the yard, "I am going to burn your goddamn castle to the ground with you in it! Get out here and settle this like men! Or are you a coward like your brother!"
It hadn't taken long to pile enough oil and gunpowder-soaked debris close enough to the main building, though he would've liked to have a cigar on hand to enjoy while listening to them suffocate and eventually burn to death. He could tell a few of his boys had reservations about the plan but they had been wise enough to realize it was best to not question him in the moment, diligently doing as he had requested in spite of their misgivings. Kino had been about the only one to take to the task with gusto, seemingly as delighted by the idea of smoking out their enemies or else ensuring they suffered to the fullest in their final moments.
A window opened and the end of a rifle with a white rag affixed to it frantically shook back and forth.
"I don't give a shit what you choose to do with them, but I got a family, mister! I wanna go home!" The person waving the flag of surrender screamed from their position just below the windowsill.
He grinned and swayed a bit on his feet, stretching his arms over his head as though this were "just another tuesday evening" and yawned.
"Alright," Dutch called back, "come on then, son. If the rest of you have families or loved ones you'd like to return to, I suggest you follow the lead of your friend here. The law likes to claim I'm some kind of vicious monster, but that's far from the truth! You see, I know all too well what it's like to be at the mercy of someone else."
Liar, he thought to himself as he beamed from ear to ear now and quietly cocked the hammer back on the handgun he had stolen as he and John made their escape. He didn't know what became of his two schofield's with the white handles, probably stashed somewhere inside and taken as a trophy by one of Cornwall's men. Truthfully, he had stolen them from someone else long ago, though the original wooden grips he had painted white. Until of course, Annabelle stole one and had it upgraded. An ivory handle, he recalled amusedly, an expensive and stupid surprise. Eventually she had convinced him to take in the other to a gunsmith and "properly" get it refitted like it's twin. Hell, she had even paid, though they later knocked over the storefront together for ammunition, cash, and a new cattleman for John for his birthday.
He would've liked to have at least been buried with them, the very last of her treasures to him but a funeral pyre for the other Cornwall would have to do.
The man who surrendered slowly began to climb through the open window to make his escape, flopping into the snow with a grunt and holding his arms above his head as he tried to stand up.
"I appreciate your mercy, Mr.-" The man began, raising his head to look at Dutch and earning a single shot between the eyes that cut his sentence and life short. He could see out of his periphery the remaining boys shift uncomfortably as he slowly lowered the barrel of the pistol down towards the ground.
"Burn it." He snorted, shoving the weapon between his belt and himself and waving a hand at the building.
"But he–" Fox began and immediately earned a reproachful look that gave him pause.
"Did I stutter, son? Burn. It." He gritted his teeth into a sort of snarl and the native nodded, turning to his fellows with torches as they went to take up their positions.
"I'LL SPARE ANY INJUN THAT KILLS THAT MAN WHERE HE STANDS!" Ephraim called out from a second story window, causing Dutch to spin around and howl with laughter.
"You see, boys? He can't even talk to you without using a slur! 'Injun', 'Savage', 'Uncivilized', 'Inhuman', and the like! This man," he gestured to the portly man leaning out the window, "this wealthy, silver-tongued, overweight, pompous, and arrogant bastard will NEVER see you as equal to him! You are like leeches in his britches and he will pluck you off, one by one, even if you would betray me."
"We would never do what those cowards did to you, Mr. Van der Linde!" Kino shouted enthusiastically, looking at his companions with a wide smile as though to say 'right?'. Yet, even Kino could see that Fox and another older boy were hesitant to return the sentiment. His face fell a bit and he carefully glanced over at Dutch to see if he had noticed the lack of commitment in his fellows.
"Oh, I know, Kino." He chuckled, but his exuberance faded a little when he noticed the dissidents amongst them. "You got somethin' to say, Tokalah? I'm all ears."
"Of course not, Mr. Van der Linde." Fox replied, keeping his head down as he tossed the burning torch he had taken from the man beside him onto the pile of debris.
"You sure don't seem too happy to be participating in this little raid." He turned to spit before glancing back at the young Apache coldly.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding–" The warrior began, lifting his eyes from the ground but Dutch held a hand up to quiet him and smirked.
"Cornwall," he glanced up at the open window now, "how much is the price on my head these days? In your…estimation?"
"Fifteen Thousand." Ephraim responded with a grin, "More than enough for that…native and his kin to buy a decent patch of land out West and start over."
"Is that all?" Dutch smirked, chuckling a bit as he began to pace the yard, "You runnin' out of money, Mr. Cornwall? Surely I'd be worth far more than that."
"I'll pay the redskin who slays you on the spot double what your bounty is." The man replied and to Dutch's horror he could see that Tokalah and his companion were actively thinking about it. He immediately pulled the pistol from his side and raised it at the two warriors with a scowl.
"Well, Tokalah? You gonna do like this man wants?" He raised an eyebrow and both Fox and his companion backed up with their arms out on either side of them.
"It ain't like that!" Kino argued, stepping between his friends and Dutch after tossing his torch away as close to the debris pile as he could. "He's messing with you, Mr. Van der Linde! He's lying, just like you said!"
"I didn't fucking ask you," he snarled back, "I asked them."
Cornwall briefly stepped away from the window, tugging at his mustache and speaking to a man inside. But Dutch was far too preoccupied with the little rebellion he had on his hands to even warrant noticing.
'Darling…' Her voice tenderly murmured in a sort of concerned way that caused him to grow even more agitated now.
"You always did find a way to annoy me, you little bitch. I'm busy." He hissed under his breath, but his warriors seemed to be used to this internal monologue becoming external.
"I did as you asked, didn't I?" Fox raised an eyebrow and folded his arms, gesturing with his moccasins at the rapidly growing fire.
"Tokalah…" Kino pleaded, glancing over his shoulder fearfully and mouthing, "don't provoke him."
"You certainly did." Dutch smiled, quickly snapping the pistol up but before he could get a shot off, another cracked like thunder over the darkened yard.
It burned like hellfire, but he could feel it enter and exit through his belly and out his back, and he quickly clutched the front of his gut as though he could stop his own blood from spilling out of the hole created. This is bad, he thought as he felt his hand warm and that heat spread past his fingers and onto his right hip. He would only have a few moments to act before the inevitable.
He turned the pistol to the window and fired back.
—-
She was busy stuffing books and other objects into the open trunk, refusing to even look at him as he sat on the cot and watched her over the rim of his book. Her cheeks were flushed bright red and her tight curls bobbed a bit with every move she made, violently shifting either back and forth or up and down.
"I wish you wouldn't make such a goddamn show of it." He muttered, pretending to return to the pages of American Inferno though he continued to track her movements instead.
"Oh quit pretending you're readin', you coldhearted bastard!" Annabelle shouted back, stepping close enough to slap the book from his hands, before folding her arms and shuddering in place. She wasn't just angry, he realized, she was actively upset with him judging the tears threatening the corners of her eyes.
"Belle, you're the one that wants to leave on account of my not being a 'family man' like you so…desire…I might be. You're throwing a goddamn tantrum! I told you from the start of this romance that I had no interest in playing the part of a doting father! You knew that going into this arrangement!" He snarled back, bending down to retrieve the book when she stepped on top of it and slid it back towards her. He scoffed and straightened up, adjusting his suspender straps and giving her a dirty look in response. "I like that book a lot, woman. You're scuffing up the cover."
"I don't give a fuck about your Eveyln Miller book, sweetheart. You're trying to change the subject like you always do. I thought we were going to find 'paradise', beloved, or did you lie to me again like you've always lied to me! And I'm sick of it! You are treating me like a goddamn whore! Is that all I am to you, Dutch? A whore? A warm body to snuggle into next to you when you feel like it?"
"Sweetheart, you're being irrational–" He began to laugh when she slapped him as hard as she could, earning a snarl in response as he felt the sting on his cheek. "Now you're acting like a whore."
"Asshole! Fine, I'll go home to Saint Denis and start over–" He stood up quickly, gripping both of her shoulders and forcing her to stand still in front of him as he chewed on his bottom lip angrily.
"Enough, woman, enough! I made you two goddamn promises and last I checked, children weren't one of them!" He shook her slightly and she went limp in his arms, the threat of tears turning into actual ones as she looked away from him and sniffed loudly. "Darling the whole goddamn camp can hear you carrying on like some kind of wounded animal! And if I get any more shit from Bessie or Hosea, I swear–"
"You aren't being honest with me. You swore to me you'd be honest with me, and me alone, on account of your goddamn 'persona'. Why can't you just answer me," she hiccuped slightly and placed both hands against his cheeks, sucking in air through gritted teeth, "just give me a reason other than 'cause we're outlaws'!"
"Belle…" He loosened his grip on her shoulders and pulled her in tightly against him as she began to weep as quietly as she could. "I don't have an answer that would satisfy you. You asked me years ago to whisk you away from security to live in the goddamn dirt like a worm. You were a force to be reckoned with, beloved, and you spurred all of it to fall in love with a sorry fool like me. I can't give you what you want. And I am sorry for it, sweetheart, I really am. But you promised you wouldn't leave me…"
"I'm your partner, your supposed 'equal', and not a goddamn whore, stop honeying your words for my benefit!" She snarled back, trying to push him off of her now angrily but he kept her locked tightly in his arms anyway.
"Belle, you would never go back on your word. Would you?" He stepped back a bit, raising an eyebrow at her as she continued to try to calm herself down but was breathing raggedly and heavily at this point.
"Don't you fuckin' chastize me about promises, Sigurd–" She snarled back when he put his fingers under her chin and made her look at him.
"Dutch," he clicked his tongue and she rolled her eyes, trying to pull away from him again, "Annabelle…I'm not blowing smoke up your ass–"
"You're avoiding answering me." She put both hands on his chest and went to push away with more force now. He chose to dig in deeper, trying to wipe her tears away with his thumbs and pressing his forehead to hers with an exasperated sigh.
"Do you really want to be a mother, darling?"
"You haven't been listening to a word–" She began but he shushed her, kissing the top of her forehead as he began to think of a way to give her what she wanted without actually having to promise her anything. She had been ornery ever since they had left for Chicago, arguing with him every chance she got over what sort of future lay in store for them now. He had contemplated asking her to marry him for a while, hell he had asked Trelawny to find a suitable ring but given how frequently they were arguing now, he was starting to have second thoughts. But, despite her fierce temperament and insistence on annoying him as frequently as she could, camp would be chaos if she left again. Not to mention, he knew she could be a vindictive sort and would probably find more creative ways to ruin future robberies for him just to get even.
He had to cave to her demand, without her there was no reason for Trelawny to hang around either and the man had solid information. Though, perhaps there was a way for him to cater to her foolish desire while also keeping true to his own intentions to father no children. There was a reason Hosea and Bessie never had kids of their own and it was something he and the older man had discussed at length, particularly now that his own partner was insisting on settling down.
"I have…I have, beloved," he chuckled as he pulled away and shifted stray hair from her face, "you aren't answering me now. Do you really want to be a mother?"
"You're pandering…" She grumbled, pouting a little and wiping her own eyes now.
"I ain't. Let's go into town for the night, alone, and at least try to discuss this in a more rational manner? Surely we can come to some kind of compromise, darling. Or do you really want to let this be the thing that drives a wedge between us? Besides," he moved his hands around her waist now and pulled her close again, "you've been pouting and whining without considering my own feelings on the subject. But you don't see me complaining that you've been treating me like a whore too. And it isn't the first time you've done so either, or did you think I'd forget about the first time you tricked me?"
"You're still keeping score after all these years, then?" She raised an eyebrow menacingly and he sighed, smoothing back her hair and rolling his eyes as he moved his face past her shoulder. This was getting irritating.
"Of course not, I was trying to lighten the mood."
"Right… well, there ain't much in that backwater town, except a pleasure house and a saloon. You can go if you want but–" She shook her head.
"I ain't going to the whorehouse, I may be a lot of things," he glanced down at her and tipped her chin up to look at him, "but I never went back on my word that you're the only woman I share a bed with. Just meet me halfway here, sweetheart. I am so goddamn exhausted from spending what should be happier days harping on each other over this. I thought when we left Arkansas, left Mr. Morgan behind with his one night stand gone horribly wrong, that we could finally enjoy being around each other instead of constantly bickering. We haven't had a day to ourselves in a while since we've been on the move."
"Dutch, any time we've had an opportunity to be alone, there's always something that comes up. What about Mr. and Mrs. Matthews? Or Susan…she'll undoubtedly want to come with us, I'm sure. I swear that woman will never cease in her pursuit of you." Annabelle rolled her eyes.
"I know. Then I will make it absolutely clear to Miss Grimshaw that I intend to spend time privately with you and you alone. Now, are we going to mosey on down into town or not, Belle?"
"Can we stop by the general store, at least? I don't mind Mr. Pearson's food, it's…edible…I guess, but that man really needs to learn how to season food. We're not stranded at sea. I brought back wild thyme the other day and he refused to add it to the pot on account of it 'not bein' the right flavor to go with venison'." She placed her arms on his before briefly sliding them up over his shoulders and placing her head between his shoulder and neck with a mopey sigh.
"Well, he should know there are two theories to arguing with women and neither of them work." He chuckled back, relieved that it seemed she was willing to forget about the argument for the time being. Better she was frustrated with the camp cook rather than him. He'd have to pick up a bottle of navy rum for the poor bastard in recompense for being annoyed by the woman's demands he become some sort of gourmet chef.
"You should take your own advice sometime." She snorted back amusedly.
—-
"Mr. Trelawny, what time is it?" Jack snapped awake and tried to stretch a bit, though he was freezing despite being huddled under a heavy buffalo hide that the man had retrieved from Gwydion. The Brit held his hands out to the small fire, rubbing them a little but didn't look over at the boy.
"It'll be dawn soon, it's always coldest right before the sun rises." He remarked, taking his hands away and rubbing the warmed palms against his thighs. He seemed nervous to the boy, as his eyes adjusted to the faint moonlight and he tugged at his heavy jacket.
"They should be back by now," Jack murmured, "you don't think that…"
"Mrs. Adler and I agreed that if they had not returned by first light that I would escort you home." Trelawny replied flatly, chewing his mustache a little and tossing a piece of wood onto the small fire.
"But what about Uncle–" Jack began as he sat up and rocked back and forth a bit to warm himself.
"I don't care. He'd have expected me to do the same. With you safely tucked out of the way, I can head back out with Charles and Uncle to see what's become of the operation. You forget you're a child, young Marston. It wouldn't be the first time we all got separated from one another, and we always find each other in the end, don't we." He glanced back over at the boy with a smirk and Jack snorted.
"But I can help. I ain't some baby, though ya'll seem to enjoy treatin' me like one."
"Heh," Trelawny chuckled a little, "you're what? Twelve or thirteen now? I suppose if our merry little band were still roaming the wilderness like we used to, Dutch would undoubtedly have use for you. Though, I doubt very much if she had survived she would've allowed your participation either. She wouldn't let him take the Senior Marston on his little adventures until the boy was about fifteen, and even then, the only reason she relented in the end was because they got tired of arguing with Miss Grimshaw over the 'fairness' of it."
"Were you traveling with them when they rescued…erm, well rather adopted, John?" He had never heard his father talk about it, other than the cliff notes version that Annabelle and Dutch had just so happened to be in town and Annabelle threw a fit at the idea of a child being sentenced to death.
"No, I was back home with my family. My boys were still very little then, and I wanted to watch them grow up as much as I could, despite my less than savory business. Fortunately, I suppose…when everything fell apart, I considered it a sort of godsend. I got to return to my family, with Arthur having given me his blessing to do so. Until now…" He mindlessly poked at the fire with a piece of timber, his eyes slightly glazed over in thought and a rather morose expression on his face.
"They'll…they'll meet us where they said they would, won't they?" Jack asked after a long silence between them.
"I certainly hope so."
—-
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME MARSTON!"
"I was gonna tell you, Abigail, I swear–"
"I hate to interrupt you two, but he ain't lookin' too good. Are you sure he's alive, kid? They put a pretty big hole through him."
"Least we could do is give the man a bit of comfort before he dies, Abigail. The man…fuck…I know you're not keen on havin' to be around him again on account of all the shit that went down but–"
"Let him die!" She hissed in response, turning to stride out of the room from the sound of it when the noise from her shoes changed and it sounded like she had been forced to a stop.
"Humor me, woman. You were fit to be tied when Mrs. Adler and I went off to take down Micah, and we couldn't have done that without…" John sighed loudly, "I promised the man I'd bury him near his wife if he fell. But I can't just sit on my hands neither. Our boy went to fetch him when I ran into trouble and he…Abby, he actually came for me. For once. He left me to die plenty before, and I ain't got the faintest idea of why he'd consider someone else other than himself…if there's anything we can do–"
"That man is a rabid animal!"
"That MAN is the reason we have enough money to live a comfortable LIFE! Show some goddamn compassion!"
"We are OUT of that life, John! You PROMISED me! AND I FIND OUT FROM UNCLE YOU'VE BEEN LETTING OUR SON–"
"Well thank god of all the people he could've run into, he ran into Dutch! If he wanted to take revenge on us, on any of us, he could've started with that kid! And he didn't."
"Oh John, you goddamn fool, he'll never be the man you idolized him to be when you were a boy! Frankly, I don't know why you continue to have a soft spot for that man after everything he put us through!"
There was a long and tense silence, as though everyone in the room were secretly asking John the same question.
"Because he's my father, Abigail. He may not be my blood father, he may have been a real shit one too sometimes, but that man plucked me off the gallows and taught me how to read and write. He didn't have to do that."
"Annabelle was the only reason he–" Abigail began and John growled in response.
"And when she died he could've thrown me to the goddamn wolves! I was sixteen! And her death was MY FAULT! I was supposed to protect her when he couldn't! And there I was, still drunk from the night before listening to her screaming for him and I couldn't even shake myself enough to defend her! None of us could! I shoulda been the one to put a bullet in Hamish O'Driscoll and I didn't! He coulda sent me for peppermint but he went himself! He may not have said a damn word but I knew what I was 'sposed to be doin'! And I failed the both of them!" It had been a long time since he had heard John's voice break with the threat of tears, he may be somewhere between alive and dead but he felt a pang of guilt for ever telling John that he had gone into the woods himself because he was afraid John would misidentify the wrong herb.
It was my fault, not yours.
There was a tense silence again before Abigail spoke.
"Okay. Okay, John. I'll do what I can," she also sounded on the verge of tears herself, "where's our son, Jackie?"
"With Trelawny, I'll go fetch 'em but I'm gonna need a fresh horse."
—-
"Sweetheart." She squeezed his arm tightly, stopping in mid stride as she stared at the notice of execution, her hazel eyes wide with horror.
"Poor bastards," he remarked, glancing at it briefly and gingerly trying to lead her away from it, "can't be helped."
"No, it can." She tore her arm from his grasp and pulled down the notice, biting her lower lip nervously as her eyes scanned over the list of crimes before looking over the paper at him pleadingly.
"Give it here." He extended a hand to her with a dissatisfied look, but the hurt in her eyes didn't fade and he felt a tinge of remorse for being so disinterested in whatever it was that had her so bothered. He sighed, turning the notice over to look at it. Most of it was fairly common crimes that would earn a man a hanging, nothing quite stood out to him from the short list of the three men that were slated to be publicly hung that afternoon. But he would feel awfully stupid if he didn't at least make an attempt to see what had gotten his partner so beside herself this morning.
It had been a fairly uneventful evening, they had had a few drinks in the saloon, played a few rounds of poker, done a little scheming together and earned a modest amount between the two of them. He liked working with her alone sometimes, considering she had a skill for pickpocketing and sleight of hand that rivaled Trelawny, even if he had trained her. Unlike her cousin, she had no need to be odd or a bit kooky in order to get the job done, and it was that feminine charm that turned other men on that also got him hot and bothered under the collar as well.
"Darling," she put her hand over the paper and stepped in close to him, hugging his waist with her arms and leaning her head on his shoulder, "I do want to be a mother."
"I realize my…reaction to the possibility of us…" His voice trailed off and he folded the paper to place in his pocket before returning her affection. "I just…Hosea and I have talked about this at length, you know. He and Bessie are perfectly content having never raised children. And consider the challenges of doing so. What happens if one of us falls? While I don't worry so much about you meeting a bitter end, I worry what might happen if I do. You and any child of ours would be back in Saint Denis with Trelawny's family, living in luxuries I could never have imagined at a tender and young age, I know but…you would have to leave the gang for good. You couldn't possibly run that outfit alone, even if you did have Hosea by your side in my stead, and raise a child. And knowing you…you wouldn't leave them because you'd believe I'd want you to keep it going. But I wouldn't. If I fall, the gang ought to fall with me."
"The Matthews have discussed retirement a thousand times over. The only reason Hosea continues to return to the fold is because of you. You need Hosea but Hosea doesn't need you. What happened to your idea of finding our own Sherwood Forest, Dutch? Some place that man nor God has touched yet?" She snuggled into his shoulder more, heaving a sigh even as he wrapped her up tightly in his arms and chewed at his mustache.
This again, he thought in annoyance. Ever since she had joined she had been begging him to hang up the belt for good.
"We need a lot more money to make that happen, sweetheart." He kissed the top of her forehead.
"But that's still the dream, right?" She raised an eyebrow and pushed herself away to cup his chin in the palm of her hand.
"Of course." He lifted his hand to hers and began to kiss her fingers.
"Dutch…" She grumbled, smirking a little and trying to pull her hand away from his mouth.
"Beloved, you're being irritating, again."
"I can't help it," she laughed, pushing a bit of stray hair from his face with her fingers to tuck it behind his ear, "you know I can't."
"What was so important about this," he retrieved the notice from his pocket to wave at her, "what had you so heartbroken? You love to claim I'm not romantic but I do care, sweetheart."
"They're going to murder a child." She replied bitterly, snapping the notice from his fingers and opening it. She turned around in his arms, letting his hands fall to either side of her waist as he peered over her shoulder and she pointed to the last man on the docket.
"Twelve years old, accused of stabbing a man through the neck to death. Twelve is young but I've seen them hang an eight year old for stealing a horse." He kissed the side of her cheek and earned a side eye from his paramour.
"Annabelle…" He went to pull away, already seeing the look in her eyes that she had made some sort of decision and was now expecting him to indulge her in it.
"Please?" She went to spin around again but he kept her pinned at the waist and laid his head on her shoulder exasperatedly.
"Just the two of us? You're crazy, woman. And I love that about you, but we'd end up with ropes around our pretty little necks," he chuckled, raising a hand to tease at her exposed neck, "unless you've got a plan."
"Isn't that your area of expertise?" She smirked back, shrugging off his hand and he let her step out of his hold on her to turn around and face him. She traced a finger across his chest and glanced up at him sheepishly.
"I hate it when you're being cute. You just know how to tug at my heartstrings, don't you, little viper?"
"I'll make it worth your while, Dutch." Annabelle giggled back as he took her fingers in his again and rolled his eyes before kissing the top of her fingertips.
"You'd better."
—-
Everything ached when he moved, he felt half on fire and half frozen and every minor shift of his weight in bed was agony. He was still alive, for now, but he felt incredibly weak and feverish, coming in and out of consciousness. Every old wound and the fresh hole in his side seemed to be giving him grief today, but at least he was sort of back in the realm of the living even if opening his eyes seemed impossible.
"I know you're awake," he heard the cold woman's voice snarl and the sound of her wringing out a cloth, "you can stop pretending you're dying."
I am dying, you traitorous bitch. He thought back angrily, wincing a little as she dabbed the cold water against the exposed hole in his side and snarled a little.
"It's nice to see you too, Miss Roberts." He grunted, still keeping his eyes closed as Abigail continued to clean the wound though she wasn't being as delicate with it as she ought to have been. She purposefully pushed as hard as she could with the rag against the bloodied spot and he opened one eye only to give her a dirty look. "That hurts."
"Do I finally have your attention, your highness? Good." She hissed back, pulling the cloth away and tossing it into the bowl of water before folding her arms indignantly and glaring back at him.
"I'm at your goddamn ranch, aren't I?" He grumbled, closing his eye again and relaxing into the pillow.
"Unfortunately." Came her short tempered reply.
"Why?" He gritted his teeth a moment, grinding his back molars in frustration. He would've put his hands over his face but moving for any length of time was miserable.
"I asked myself the same question when John and those natives dragged your sorry ass to my doorstep. If it were in my hands, I'd smother you with a pillow and be done with it. You just can't leave me or my family alone, can you, Dutch?"
"Don't get it twisted, woman. Your husband can't leave me well enough alone. Or your boy. He takes after you more than he does John, 'cept maybe in intelligence. You betrayed me after Blackwater, didn't you, Abigail?" He opened his eyes again, shifting his gaze to her and she snarled and shook her head in response.
"You're delusional."
"Am I?" He grunted and went to sit up a bit when she pushed him back down on the mattress.
"You are. Worst thing I ever did to you was…I…I'm not going to apologize to you for taking the key to your war chest, Dutch."
"Nothing ever happened between you and I, remember that."
"You keep telling yourself that." She snorted, returning to the bedside table with various bandages and other medical supplies.
"Opium makes a man impotent, or did you forget I had a little problem back then? Nothing. Happened." He huffed as she moved onto medicating the bullet hole now with some sort of thick yellowy substance.
"You gonna kill me when you're patched up to ensure I stay silent about everything?" She raised an eyebrow and he sputtered out a chuckle.
"If I wanted you dead, Abigail, you would be. But you did talk to the Pinkerton's. I know you did. And…" His smirk faded a bit and he closed his eyes again, "you were trying to do right by your child. I can't fault you for that. You wanted to scare me into making us all scatter, unlike Micah who was just after the bounty on my head and the Blackwater money. Did you know they were going to execute Hosea in front of me, in front of us?"
"They said they just wanted you and the rest of us could go, but–" She paused, her cheeks flushing a moment as she stopped spreading the gooey mixture over the wound.
"They were never going to stay true to their word, sweetheart. Arthur knew that, that's why he refused to accept their deal back then." He added quietly, in almost a tender way.
"I know. But neither were you. You left my man to die in prison. Your alleged son. I went behind your back to ask Arthur to get him back. You punished Arthur for doing what you should've done in the first place. You got my son back and I'm grateful, hell…because of the show you made of it, you actually convinced John to give Jackie a chance. I…I tried to quit informing on us after that too, not that it mattered much in the end," her voice trailed off and she went to wash the mixture off her hands in the water bowl before continuing, "John said you went to rescue him."
"I did. Like a fool."
"Well, thank you."
"Abigail?" He turned to look at her as she dried her hands and went to retrieve the linen bandages. She seemed to understand from his eyes alone what he was going to ask her and she shook her head no. He closed his eyes again and quietly nodded. She chose John. She chose well, didn't she, Annabelle?
—-
The streets were crowded in the midafternoon sun, breath coming out like puffs of steam as people chattered to one another in hushed voices. They made their way through the crowd towards the front, he paused a moment and carefully whisked her over the thick mud and onto drier ground nearby. She fanned herself, despite the colder temperatures this time of year, a stray curl flapping in the breeze with every flutter of the powder blue and bone handled object. She seemed tenser than usual, almost apprehensive as though she weren't entirely certain their little scheme was going to work. He carefully traced the back of her neck with his fingers to reassure her, feeling her press against him with a nervous sigh as the pocketwatch counted down the minutes.
"It'll be fine, darling." He murmured in reassurance but Annabelle did not seem remotely convinced, her eyes searching the gallows for that twelve year old boy slated to be executed.
"Doesn't it bother you, sweetheart?" Her voice hushed as she continued to anxiously fan the both of them now, causing him to grab at her hand gently and help her fold the fan back up.
"It does. Normally you're the cool, calm, and collected one, remember? I'm just the man with a plan. Just let me do the talkin' here." She nodded, tucking the fan into a hidden pocket in her dress and allowing him to wrap both arms around her.
"It's barbaric." She pouted, prompting him to move her tight curls away from one shoulder and kiss her neck.
"It is. And I'm going to make sure that kid doesn't swing. Or are you doubting me?" He paused and she glanced back at him.
"I know better than to doubt you, beloved. But I didn't say stop." She smirked and he chuckled a moment, returning to kiss her neck with a half excited growl. Eventually he had to as they began leading out the accused and he caught sight of the boy that his woman had insisted they rescue.
The town couldn't really afford a gallows, having taken three ropes and slung them over the branches of a large tree in the center of town, with three crates placed beneath them. One man began to adjust the loose ropes of the nooses, trying to size up the three accused so that the job would be done quickly and effectively.
The boy was last in line, towards the part of the branch that climbed highest, his dirty brown black hair obscuring his eyes as he stared pensively at the icy dirt below him. He scratched at it with tattered boots, looking rather resigned in his bonds compared to the other two men who sneered at the crowd gathered before them.
"Wait here." He whispered to Annabelle, shifting past her towards where the man handling the rope was sizing up the boy now, placing it over his head and tugging it upwards a couple times before determining the right height. As he went to take the rope off of the boy, Dutch approached as casually as he could.
"You don't seem too thrilled about this last one." He remarked, inhaling sharply and catching the man's glance as he continued to fidget with the rope.
"This poor kid came into the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess. He ain't one of ours, he's from a couple towns over, ran away from the orphanage and has been livin' on the streets since. My wife had him chop wood for us a number of times, for a bite to eat. Lotta folks in town tried to help this kid but…well, without proper guidance he'd have ended up here sooner or later." The man replied solemnly, glancing down at the boy who seemed to shiver a bit under the man's gaze but continued keeping his eyes transfixed to the dirt in front of him.
"He stabbed a man through the neck?" Dutch asked, shifting a little closer and realizing that Annabelle had disappeared from where he had left her. Goddamn it, sweetheart, I told you to stay put. No matter, he would give her a ration of shit later.
"Sure did. Self defense if you ask me, but…well, the law certainly didn't see it that way. The mayor didn't want this urchin around no more. Stole a couple of the man's chickens to feed himself, pilfered things from the root cellar…again, it was only a matter of time before his lack of parental figure was gonna land him in hot water." The man shook his head, still fidgeting with the rope a little.
"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"
Fuck, Annabelle…he glanced up and noticed she was being held back by a couple of women nearby, shaking and furiously stabbing a rather scrawny looking man with her finger.
"That child is a monster, Miss. A thief! A murderer! And it is my duty to–" The scrawny man began when Annabelle swiped at him, but he moved just out of reach of her.
"YOU'RE THE GODDAMN MONSTER!" She shouted back, quickly glancing to her partner and silently giving him a look he knew all too well.
She was making noise to distract the crowd from what he was doing. He nodded, quietly putting his hand on the knife on his belt and sliding it out of place, stepping a little towards the boy and pushing the handle of it against the boy's side. The hangman quickly raised his head and locked eyes with Dutch, but he didn't panic over it as he felt the boy take the knife and begin to carefully work the blade through the rope that held him.
"Not a word." He murmured to the man who nodded in response, striding past the boy to block him from the crowd and glance over his shoulder at Annabelle who was still causing as big a scene as she could. Crying and carrying on as though it were her own child up on these gallows and Dutch had to suppress a smile.
"Kid's name is John, he don't speak much and he's about as slow as molasses, but he's a good boy deep down. I take it that's your wife." The man gestured with his thumb as John finished cutting himself free and went to bolt, forgetting about the bindings around his ankles when Dutch quickly caught him by the shoulder and yanked the antler handled knife from him.
"Something like that," Dutch replied, keeping a hold of the squirming boy and cutting the bond down the middle before waving the knife in the child's face, "can you be quick and quiet, son? I'm going to get you out of here, but if you make this difficult for me, you're making it even more difficult for that beautiful woman down there at the end causing a ruckus on your behalf. And I like that woman a lot."
The boy said nothing, simply nodding as Dutch straightened up and began to walk with the boy in front of him, pushing him towards an alleyway and slinking out of sight. He would have to find Annabelle later, or rather, she would have to find him. The boy went to bolt away from him again when he caught the kid by the arm and yanked him back, practically ragdolling him into a barrel. The kid was scrawny, lice ridden, dirty, and freezing to the touch.
"Listen here you little shit, if you don't put a little faith in me, you're going to get us both killed. Now, you move when I tell you to move, John. Unless," he gestured behind him at the tree with the nooses on it, "you wanna swing?"
The child shook his head and Dutch gestured with his chin for the boy to keep moving through the alleyway.
"Yer wife looks like a kind lady, mister." The boy mumbled, "But you don't seem like a kind fella."
"I ain't a kind fella. I'm the worst kind of feller there is, son. I'm a man in love, which makes me foolish and shortsighted. You can thank the lady later, right now I need to get you out of town."
"LET GO OF ME!" He turned with a snarl at the sound of her voice crying out in distress, grabbing John and ducking him down into cover with him. They watched a couple of burly men drag Annabelle past them, her boots scraping against the icy dirt and her hair an absolute mess.
"Goddamn it, sweetheart." Dutch groaned, rubbing his face with his hands, he hated it when he couldn't protect her from trouble, let alone protect her from herself. He'd have to take the boy back to camp and come back for her tonight. The boy tugged on his shirt and he growled in response, glaring down at the urchin next to him. "What?"
"We're gonna rescue her, ain't we?" The boy mumbled and Dutch closed his eyes and heaved a frustrated sigh.
"Ain't no we, son. I'm perfectly capable of protecting my woman and the only reason we're in this predicament to begin with is on account of you. You," he slapped John's hand away from his shirt, "are coming with me back to camp. And then I am going to come back for Miss Annabelle."
—-
He wasn't sure how much time had passed at Beecher's Hope when Sadie opened the door and came strolling in, carrying a tray with whatever lunch Abigail had made for them and closed the door with her foot. He sat up, though it was still a rather tough ordeal for him now that the hole had scabbed over and begun to itch like hellfire. But there was something else Sadie had with her today that caught his attention almost immediately.
"I thought they mighta burned up when I set that place on fire." He murmured, eying his own gunbelt slung across her hip today with both his twin schofield's riding up and down with her movements.
"John went back in to get 'em. After we gave your boy's cover, he went in and took Ephraim Cornwall out himself. And these," she pulled a cigar from a pocket and lobbed it at him, "Dominican."
"You still headed to Brazil, Mrs. Adler?" He asked, greedily picking up the cigar and looking around for something to cut it with when she provided him both a cutter and matches, reaching back into her pocket to produce one for herself.
"Somethin' like that." She replied with her mouth half closed as she put the smoke in her mouth and waited for Dutch to finish cutting and lighting his before setting the tray down on the bedside table and pulling up a stool with the back of her spur.
"You mind terribly if we ride together a while?" He puffed on it, exhaling through his nose and producing small puffs of silvery smoke out of the corners of his mouth and nostrils.
"I'd say I would, but…I don't think it would do me much good to say no to you, would it?" She raised an eyebrow, retrieving the cutter from him and tending to her own cigar now.
"Just to the Yucatan and then you can wash your hands of me, once and for all." He replied, passing her the matches now which she swiped out of his hand.
"You giving it up?" She asked, selecting a match from the box and striking it on the side, puffing on her own cigar now.
"When have you ever known me to give up? I may be mad as a rabid dog but I'm not stupid. They can't do shit to me in Mexico and they'll be looking for me and John. But that idiot won't leave this ranch behind, will he? I'd ask him and the boy to come with but–"
"Abigail would put another hole in you just to make her point." Sadie smirked and he nodded quietly. "I'm leaving for Brazil tomorrow. You gonna be able to ride in the state you are? We're gonna have to ride pretty damn hard, Dutch. Especially with the kind of heat you have on you now."
"I've survived worse. We both have." He took another long drag off the cigar and Sadie finally took a seat on the stool next to him, crossing a boot over her leg and jingling her spur a little.
"You gonna at least say bye to the kid?"
"I–" He began but they were quickly interrupted by Abigail who huffed somewhat angrily at the cigar smoke that had begun filling the room, waving her hand as she slammed the door shut and launched open one of the windows before pacing to another and doing the same.
"Abigail–" Sadie offered apologetically, but the dark haired woman cut her off as she opened the last window just behind Dutch.
"I want to talk to him," she stepped back and folded her arms, "alone."
"We ain't got shit to talk about, sweetheart." Dutch replied with a grumble, snorting cigar smoke out his nose as he took another long drag off of it.
"The hell we don't, Dutch Van der Linde! You've overstayed your damn welcome! And now you're–" she went to smack the cigar from his hand but he quickly grabbed her wrist before she should and she flushed bright red.
"Mrs. Adler and I were just discussing our departure. You think I want to be here? At your goddamn mercy?" He pushed her hand away from him and glanced over at Sadie. "Leave the gunbelt and fetch John, if you'd be so kind, Mrs. Adler."
"'Course." Sadie quickly stood up and took the belt off, handing it off to Dutch who placed it over his lap and continued puffing angrily on his cigar as Sadie slipped out.
"You're gonna burn my good linens." Abigail snarled, curling her lip in disgust and forcibly grabbing a glass ashtray off the nightstand and thrusting it at him. He huffed and snatched it from her, rolling the ashed end of it against the glass and gesturing that he hadn't gotten any of it on the blanket with a sneer.
"Happy?"
"Sadie said you wanted to see me?" John slipped in and Dutch could see Jack loitering about in the hallway, as though he were waiting his turn as his father shut the door behind him and went to step between Abigail and Dutch's bed.
"I did," he growled, as he and Abigail eyed each other coldly, "here."
He set the cigar down in the ashtray and lifted the gunbelt up towards John who stepped away from it for a moment, visibly confused.
"Just take the fuckin' thing, John. I'm leaving in the morning and I hope to God, if he exists, that we never cross paths again. Belle had the left one laid with ivory a long time ago, it's probably worth something I'm sure," he wiggled it a little but John still wouldn't take it, "so the boy can go to college, make something of himself."
"You want me to sell them? Dutch…but, I…I can't…" John stepped back a little more, glancing down at the floor and covering part of his mouth with his hand.
"Abigail, take 'em." He didn't look at her but she extended her hand out to receive it when John grabbed her wrist and pushed her away.
"No."
"That ain't your decision to make, John. It's mine. And," he chuckled a little, shaking his head in disbelief, "she would've wanted me to do this too. It's the last thing I'm ever going to do for you. So don't squander it by being sentimental and stupid."
"Just take it, John." Abigail tossed his grip off of her and went to reach for it again when he physically put himself between them.
"I said no, woman."
"If you don't, I'm just going to leave it here." Dutch sighed, lowering it back onto his lap and retrieving his cigar.
"That boy ain't gonna be an outlaw, Dutch. Keepin' those things around is just gonna remind him of…and me…" John kept his back to him, still fuming angrily and chewing on his bottom lip.
"I know. You keep insisting I raised you, that I taught you everything, but we both know that's bullshit, John. Don't raise that boy the way I raised you and Arthur. You raise that boy the way Annabelle did. That's why I refused your desperate little pleas for me to shepherd that boy into manhood. You got some of me, sure. But deep down, all the important shit you learned, you learned from her, not me. You get to have the one thing we didn't, John. Though I admit I'm not too keen on your choice of wife," he shot a look at Abigail who flushed pink and turned away from him, "but that wasn't my choice to make. They're going to come for you someday, son. So you'd better give that kid more than just continuing this cycle of neverending vengeance and death that I instilled in you. It'd kill the both of us if you did."
"I'll keep one. You take the other." John replied solemnly after a while.
"You ain't Annabelle, John. Only she could make demands of me. It's the only inheritance we can leave you." Dutch sighed, gesturing to the belt on his lap again as John slowly turned around and looked down at him mournfully.
"The cut of the Blackwater–" John began when Dutch raised his hand to quiet him and scowled.
"You earned that money. This is a gift from the folks that raised you, from…your…mother and I to your son. Don't make me give them to Josiah to pawn on your behalf and have him send the proceeds back when the boy's of college age. You know he told Josiah he wanted to become a writer? Tell our stories someday? I'd like that, John, and I hope I'm around long enough to read about our exploits. Though, given the situation we put ourselves in recently, I doubt I will. If I were you, I'd get the hell out of here and leave this godforsaken patch of desolate dirt behind. But I know you," he paused, "this is the first time in a long time you've had somewhere to call home."
"You gonna stay in South America for good then?" John asked, finally taking the belt from him and slinging it over his shoulder.
"Maybe. It's better for us to be strangers, John. I tried to spell that out for you at Mount Hagen but…you chose to play the part of an ignorant fool. Arthur died so you could live, so don't squander it, son and don't let me be the reason you continue to do so."
—-
The mare paused on the trail, snorting loudly and glancing over her shoulder at the flatlands beyond them but he let the reins remain slack. He had shaved and cut his hair down to nearly nothing, it was grayer than he remembered and it hadn't taken long for the morning shadow to reappear along his jawline and cheeks. It had been years since he had been this underdressed, this unpolished, and lacking in any sort of refinement or decorum.
Kino and Sadie were far ahead of him, the outline of their horses glimmering under the heat of the afternoon sun as they proceeded to the Rio, talking to one another as they got further and further away from him.
"Come on." He nudged the mare onward but she ignored the spur gently pressed into her flank and continued to stare at the shimmering landscape behind them. He turned too, but saw nothing but cactus and red and golden sand until the scenery melted away into a hazy glow. Her ears pitched forward and she lifted her head a little as though to inspect something in the distance more carefully, before finally deciding to plod along in the path worn by the other horses and slowly fix her eyes towards the border.
'You could've convinced John to run away. They're going to come for him now, Dutch, and it'll be your fault again.' Arthur grumbled from somewhere beyond his vision.
"I know. But none of you would've forgiven me if I hadn't gone to fetch him, so…consider it my last act of faith." He mumbled back, swaying in the saddle a bit as he watched his shadow creep along the trail.
'Thank you.' It was her voice now and he half smiled briefly.
"I'm the worst kinda feller there is, I'm a man in love."
'He's yours after all, isn't he, darling?' She replied after a long while.
"We all had her. But…I could never bring myself to…I…I didn't…" He chewed lip nervously, feeling an anxious bead of sweat roll out of his temple and down across his cheek.
'I know. She chose John.'
"Yes, she did."