Chapter 3
Arthur knew that the gang had been falling apart for a while. What had started in Blackwater had only gotten worse. Jenny, Mac, Davey, Sean, Lenny, Hosea, and even Kieran’s deaths haunted her. The image of Sean’s head being blown to bits, Kieran’s headless body holding his eyeless head, and both Lenny and Hosea’s bodies hitting the ground while she could do nothing but watch kept her awake at night, and plagued what little sleep she could get. Any time she managed to fall asleep, it wouldn’t take long for the nightmares to come. The gang was her family, but with Dutch acting more and more erratically, Arthur wasn’t sure how much longer it could last.
Arthur loved Dutch as a father, but since Blackwater, he hadn’t been the same. She remembered the innocent woman Dutch killed in Guarma and felt sick. John had told her about the innocent girl Dutch had shot at Blackwater. The Dutch she knew, the Dutch that rescued her as a child would never do such a thing. The Dutch she knew wouldn’t leave John to rot in prison.
Since Sadie and her had confirmed that John was, in fact, imprisoned at Sisika Penitentiary, Sadie had been working on a plan to break him out. Alone, since Dutch had so adamantly refused to rescue him. It was bullshit, Arthur didn’t know how Dutch could abandon someone he claimed as his own son like that.
Arthur tried not to think about how it felt to have nobody come to save her when Colm O’Driscoll got to her. She knew she was being unfair and selfish. If they had come to save her, Colm likely would have succeeded in his plan and brought the law down on all of them. Then they would be the ones swinging instead of Colm. That bastard would swing, she would make sure of it. Still, she couldn’t help the childish part of her that wished Dutch would have come in, guns swinging, saving her like he did when she was a kid. She was grown now, and could take care of herself. She made it out just fine herself, with only a few scars left to show for it.
Arthur was eternally grateful to Sadie for being the only one to help her stand up for John, even if her methods of helping were odd. A hot air balloon! She’d been dubious when she saw the odd contraption, but it worked surprisingly well. The pilot, may he rest in peace, initially didn’t want her to ride with him, saying that flying would “mess with her womanly vapors”, but putting a hand on the pistol on her hip seemed to scare some sense into him.
With too much time on her hands waiting for Sadie to plan the prison break, Arthur thought she should check up on the widow she met, Charlotte Belfour. When she first met Charlotte, she was surprised that, despite her grief, she was strong enough to continue living. She admired that strength.
Arthur knew she didn’t have long to live. The doctor in Saint Denis had said as much, and she could feel herself deteriorating with every passing week. Her coughing fits had gotten more frequent and bloodier. She could see her eyes were red and sunken. Her life was going to come to an end, and what would she leave behind? Nothing except dead bodies and pain.
Arthur knew she wasn’t a good woman, but she still wanted to do some good in this world before she died. Charlotte had seemed like a good woman, even if she was unsuited for the life she was now living. If she didn’t check on Charlotte, and something happened to her, she didn’t know if she could live with herself.
Arthur scanned the quickly passing scenery. She saw nothing that warranted concern, only passing trees and small animals running alongside her. It was still early in the morning, and the chill from the night before made the air taste crisp and fresh with dew.
Arthur kept riding, giving her horse, Cactus, a pat on her neck for her hard work. She missed Boadicea, but Cactus was already turning out to be a good and reliable horse. She had already gotten her through a fair number of gunfights and always managed to get her back to camp safely.
As they neared Charlotte’s cabin, Arthur heard a gunshot ring through the forest. She kicked Cactus into a sprint, trying to reach the cabin as quickly as possible. She prayed to a God that she didn’t believe in that she wasn’t too late and Charlotte was alright. She pulled the shotgun out of Cactus’ saddle in preparation for a fight.
Arthur crested the hill Charlotte’s cabin sat on and saw that the gunshots were coming from Charlotte herself, trying to shoot bottles off a crate with a Carbine Repeater. Relieved, Arthur took a breath and stowed the shotgun across her back. It didn’t hurt to have some extra firepower. She slowed Cactus to a trot and slid off of her. Charlotte hadn’t noticed her yet.
“Gosh darn it. Not a single one,” Charlotte exclaimed to herself.
Arthur took a moment to observe Charlotte before she noticed her presence. She was wearing a new dress and although it was cleaner than the one she had been wearing last time, it wasn’t clean. Dirt clung to her shoulders and her skirt had visible patches. Arthur was glad to notice she looked better than she had last time. No longer crying, Charlotte seemed to have gotten some energy back. Having regular meals could do that to a woman.
Charlotte put the repeater up on her shoulder and fired it again, missing the bottles by a long shot. The recoil was strong enough that she stumbled. As she was picking herself up, Charlotte finally noticed Arthur lingering behind her. Having been noticed, Arthur slid off her horse and started walking over to where Charlotte was standing. As she got closer, Arthur could see that her face was clear of any tears or signs of sadness. Most of her dark hair was pulled into a low bun, although some had fallen out, framing her face.
“Oh hey there!” Charlotte seemed glad to see Arthur.
“How you feeling, ma’am,” Arthur asked. Arthur knew that grief can be a funny thing, and regardless of Charlotte’s visible improvements, she was still grieving her husband.
“Much better than I’ve felt in a long time,” Charlotte laughed, “I… if we hadn’t caught that rabbit, I don’t think I’d have made it another day.”
When Charlotte smiled, crow’s feet appeared around her eyes. Arthur was half worried that Charlotte wouldn’t care to see her again. Arthur knew she was intimidating, but she was glad to see that Charlotte seemed to be genuinely happy to see her.
“Well, you look better,” Arthur was glad to not have to lie. It seemed the week she’d been gone had been kind to Charlotte.
“Better and determined, thanks to you,” Charlotte gestured towards the repeater she now held in one hand, “And if I’m gonna learn to hunt, I figured it was time I learned how to use Cal’s gun properly.”
Arthur pointedly looked over at the crate topped with unbroken bottles, “And how’s that working out for ya?”
“Well,” Charlotte hefts the gun back up to her shoulder and aims at the bottles, “Let’s just say my prey is looking decidedly unscathed.”
Charlotte pulled the trigger, once again missing all of the bottles entirely. Her stance wasn’t strong, so she staggers once more under the recoil and has to hold her arms out to keep from falling down. Arthur could see bullet holes in the shed behind the bottles, and it looked as if Charlotte had been trying unsuccessfully for a while now.
Charlotte looked slightly put out, but not surprised, “But the end of labor is to gain leisure, is that not what Aristotle said?”
Arthur didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. Charlotte, seemingly tired of holding the repeater, grabs the barrel of the muzzle and sets the butt end down, leaning on it like a walking stick. Arthur wondered why nobody had ever taught Charlotte common sense, she was going to blow her damn head off.
“Well, I… I don’t know much about Aristotle,” Arthur grabs the repeater and shifts it so Charlotte is holding it safely, “But I know a thing or two about shooting a gun.”
Arthur places her hand on Charlotte’s shoulder to move her into a better stance. With one foot, she lightly kicked Charlotte’s feet into place.
“Look…you gotta hold steady and firm,” Arthur moved to stand behind Charlotte and put both hands on her shoulders to shift her torso into a position that would help her deal with the recoil, “You just focus, breathe slowly, and always pull the trigger on empty lungs.”
Arthur was close enough to Charlotte to feel her body heat. She felt sturdy and warm under her hands. Charlotte smelled like the outdoors, cooked meat, and the slight musk that comes from an unwashed body. Arthur was sure she smelled terrible, she hadn’t taken a bath in too long, and hoped that Charlotte wasn’t off put. It was nice to touch another person. Arthur remembered the way Charlotte’s hand had felt in hers, gentle and soft. Charlotte wasn’t quite as tall as Arthur was, and as she looked down at her side profile, Arthur felt guilty. She knew that Charlotte was freshly widowed and didn’t need someone like her in her life.
“Here,” Arthur stepped away, feeling the cool air more acutely now that she couldn’t feel Charlotte’s body heat, “I’ll show ya.”
Arthur took a deep breath to clear her head and grabbed the pistol on her hip.
“Okay… calm and steady… don’t snatch at the trigger.”
Arthur aimed the pistol and deftly shot a bottle. Easing the pistol back into its holster, she turned to face Charlotte once more.
“You make it look so easy!” Charlotte exclaimed.
Arthur knew the only reason it looked that way was a lifetime of shooting. The first time she had shot a gun she wasn’t much better than Charlotte was now.
“Alright, you try now,” Arthur instructed, “Remember to breathe.”
Charlotte lifted the repeater, this time keeping the stance that Arthur had moved her into.
“Wait to breathe out, wait to breathe out,” Charlotte whispered, seemingly to herself.
After preparing herself, Charlotte breathed out and pulled the trigger, only moving slightly when the recoil hit her. She still didn’t hit a bottle.
Charlotte was unperturbed by the failure, “Would you look at that? I haven’t hit one that close all day!”
“Not bad. Focus on the inhale, shoot on the exhale,” Arthur responded, happy that Charlotte was so happy over a missed shot, “My turn… I’ll shoot a few more this time.”
Arthur could admit to herself that she wanted to show off a little. Shooting unmoving bottles was no problem for her, but it seemed to impress Charlotte. She grabbed the pistol once more and shattered three bottles quickly in succession. Arthur turned to Charlotte, but she was distractedly looking towards the grass to the right of the bottles.
“Oh no, that wretched rat is back,” Charlotte pointed towards a fat brown rat scurrying around in the grass, “Over there, you see? It’s been a thorn on my side ever since we moved here. Kill it, please.”
Arthur signed, though she supposed that this would be a slightly more impressive feat than shooting an inanimate bottle. She lifted her pistol and shot the rat right in its head.
“Showoff,” Charlotte teased, “Alright, let me try again.”
Arthur was slightly disappointed she didn’t seem more impressed, but she couldn't fault Charlotte in her accusation. She was trying to show off.
Charlotte squared her shoulders and aimed the repeater at the bottles. She breathed out audibly before pulling the trigger. Arthur was still looking at Charlotte, so she only realized that Charlotte actually hit a bottle when she heard it shatter.
“Yes! I hit it! I hit it, didn’t I?” Charlotte looked very pleased with herself.
Charlotte looked towards Arthur as if to confirm that she really did hit the bottle. She was smiling unabashedly. Arthur could see the small freckles splashed across her cheeks and the small scar that was just barely visible between her eyebrows. Arthur thought she was beautiful. She could feel her heart beating faster in her chest. Arthur cursed herself, reminding herself once more that Charlotte was recently widowed and could do much better than her regardless.
She was relieved, and a little surprised, that Charlotte was actually able to hit anything with only her lackluster tutelage. Arthur was a good shot, but that was with a lifetime of practice. Her weapons were an extension of herself at this point. Arthur hoped that Charlotte’s aim would hold true when she was aiming at a live, moving animal.
Arthur smiled back at Charlotte, wanting to share in her happiness, “You did well.”
“What can I say?” Charlotte laughed, “Thank you.”
“I’m glad to help,” Arthur admitted, “If it means a lady such as yourself won’t starve.”
Arthur didn’t know if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a slight blush on Charlotte’s cheeks. Charlotte reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling it up to her chest.
“I still have some of the rabbit left that I salted up. Would you join me for a meal? It’s the least I can do.”
Charlotte’s hand was warm and comforting in hers. Arthur couldn’t tear her eyes away from the way the two of their hands looked intertwined. Charlotte’s hands were smaller and softer than hers, not marred by a life such as Arthur’s. Arthur knew her own hands were rough and hoped that Charlotte didn’t mind.
Finally pulling her eyes back to look at Charlotte, Arthur relented, “If you insist.”
In truth, she was grateful for any excuse to spend more time with Charlotte, selfish as it might be. It was nice to spend time away from the stresses of the gang, to spend time with someone who didn’t expect anything from her.
Charlotte pulled her hand away from Arthur’s and started walking towards her cabin. Arthur let her hand hang in midair for a moment before turning and following her.
The cabin looked the same as it did last time, though this time there was a delicious aroma coming from a pot simmering on the stove. Arthur felt her stomach rumble, it smelled good and she hadn’t eaten in too long. Since becoming ill her appetite has diminished greatly. She’d lost enough weight that she noticed when washing. For once, she was actually hungry and she was damn well going to take advantage of it.
“Go ahead and take a seat at the table,” Charlotte instructed her, “Food is just about done.”
Charlotte grabbed a spoon and stirred the concoction on the stove, bringing a spoonful to her mouth to taste. She nodded, as if approving of what she tasted, and grabbed the pot to bring it over to the table.
“Well it’s… it’s good and hot,” Charlotte grabbed a bowl and ladled what looked to be a stew into it, “I hope you enjoy it. You helped me to catch it after all.”
Charlotte laughed at her own joke, which made Arthur smile.
Arthur reached out to pull the bowl closer to her, feeling a cough trying to force its way out of her throat. She cleared her throat, hoping to suppress it, not wanting to worry Charlotte.
“Bon appetit,” Charlotte said, much to Arthur’s confusion.
“Huh?” Arthur once again was at a loss as to what Charlotte could possibly mean. City folk and their big words.
“Please enjoy,” Charlotte amended, “And thank you again for everything… I really am grateful.”
“It was nothing,” Arthur sighed.
She didn’t know why Charlotte was so insistent on thanking her. There was only so much gratitude Arthur could take before she started to become uncomfortable.
She could feel the tightness in her throat and chest that meant another coughing fit was coming on. Clearing her throat once more, Arthur took a bite of the stew, hoping the broth would soothe her throat. The stew was plain, but flavorful and hardy. It was much better than what she had been eating lately. Not having time for more, Arthur was mostly living off the plain and unseasoned meat of whatever animal she could hope to shoot.
“You’re a good woman,” Charlotte declared.
“Oh, you don’t really know me.”
Arthur was sure if Charlotte knew everything that she had done, she would feel different. She wouldn’t feel so comfortable inviting her into her house. Arthur knew she didn’t deserve that kindness. Charlotte was grabbing a bowl for herself, so Arthur didn’t have to look her in her eyes. She didn’t think she would be able to, not when she knew that she wasn’t the good woman Charlotte seemed to think she was.
“I know enough,” Charlotte turned and looked determinedly into Arthur’s eyes, “There’s always more to find in ourselves, you helped me to see that.”
Arthur smiled, slightly. She supposed that if Charlotte wants to think she’s a good woman, she won’t stop her. For now. Arthur didn’t want to tell her about the things she’s done.
“My husband, Cal, was such an optimist, I found that to be very contagious, but there’s a fine line between optimism and naivete,” Charlotte admitted, “We were both born with the silver spoon; banquets, butlers, valets.”
Arthur couldn’t imagine living that kind of life. Her entire life she’s had to work for everything she has. City living isn’t for her. Cities were too dirty, too busy, too stuffy. City folk loved to look down their nose at her and anyone who doesn’t fit themselves into the mold they wanted.
“Sounds,” Arthur started, but was stopped by a series of painful coughs forcing their way out of her throat.
She hit her aching chest, finally stopping the coughs and laughing, “Sounds terrible.”
“It was just so many people,” Charlotte agreed.
Arthur coughed once more and her vision started to blur. Charlotte’s face started to distort and she had to focus in order to catch what she was saying.
“So many things. I was lost in it, I was crushed by it. My father was very overbearing,” Charlotte looked down at her own, untouched, bowl, “Then we came out here and I got crushed by this. You know I pictured myself picking fresh vegetables.”
Arthur could feel his mind slipping and pushed her nails into her palm, trying to refocus on Charlotte. She could hear a fly buzzing. It sounded so loud she could barely hear what Charlotte said next.
“Sipping homemade wine, writing a great novel. But I turned out to be a far more pathetic anti-heroine than any I could ever pen.”
“Ah well,” Arthur felt that she should say something to reassure her, but she couldn’t seem to string the words together.
All she could do was cough into her palm and try to ignore how her vision was swimming and she felt like she was going to fall over even though she already was sitting down.
Arthur was finally able to put together a sentence, with much effort, “I reckon you’re gonna be just fine.”
Speaking only made the itch in her throat worse. She couldn’t seem to stop coughing. Arthur was half embarrassed. She had hoped to be able to wait until she left before having a fit.
Charlotte looked at Arthur with concern, “Are you alright?”
Arthur holds one hand up, trying to convey that she was fine. She knew it wasn’t that convincing though, as she was still unable to stop coughing into her other fist. She was lightheaded. She was suffocating. Arthur needed to get out of the cabin.
“Can I get you some water?”
Charlotte moves to stand up, but Arthur didn’t want to trouble her. All she needed to do was get outside and breathe the fresh air. She didn’t want Charlotte to see her like this, coughing pathetically. She didn’t want to pass out again.
“No, I’m, I’m, I’m fine. I just. Uh,” Arthur’s head was swimming.
She couldn’t remember what she was going to stay. She could barely see Charlotte’s concerned face looking at her only a few feet away. Arthur levered herself up, using the chair as a crutch, but she couldn't do much more than lean her weight against the chair and cough. Arthur thought she could taste blood.
“Yeah, thank you for this,” Arthur looked up and was startled that Charlotte seemed to be much closer than she had been a second ago, “I think it’s, it’s best if I…”
Arthur tried to take a step away from the chair, but found her legs weak and unable to support her own weight. She could barely see anything and black static was slowly overtaking her vision.
“If I make…”
Arthur felt her knees collapse and hit the ground. Not able to support herself, she fell backwards. Still coughing, she felt blood and spit spill from her lips. She thought she could see Charlotte standing above her, talking, but she couldn’t hear anything but buzzing and her vision was slowly fading to black.