Chapter 10
This time, you’re early. Perhaps catching him somewhat off guard will give you some clues about him. You had made an excuse to your father, telling him that Isabel needed assistance with some lesson plans. Luckily, the saloon was busy, and he seemed too distracted to object.
You sit on a bench, silently watching the stars, listening for Octavius. You can hear the soft whirr of insects, and a gentle breeze stirring the leaves of the chestnut tree. The breeze is cool but sweet, smelling of the disappearing heat of the day. It is significantly darker out now, the moon has changed. You’re grateful for the darkness and the quiet.
Then, hoofbeats. You perk up, listening carefully. “Atta girl, wait here,” says Octavius, his voice a murmur. He gives his horse a reassuring pat, clucking his tongue. You smile to yourself. A good man is always kind to his horse, as your father would say. You watch as he enters the graveyard, the gate creaking quietly on its hinges. His movements are odd, almost stiff. His hat is low, covering his eyes, and his posture is somewhat folded. His hands are in his pockets, and he whistles a soft tune. Then, he stops.
“Hoping to make up for last time?” he calls out with a chuckle. You stand abruptly, blushing. You had thought you were silent and invisible, at least from the gate. But then to survive in the West, you have to be perceptive.
“Perhaps.”
“Well, this time I’m the late one, so I’ll consider us even,” he sighs. He comes over to you, stopping beside you. You turn to him, looking up. Grinning back down at you, he politely removes his hat, giving a little bow. “It’s good to see you again. You know, I couldn’t get you out of my mind all day today. That’s partially why I was late, actually,” he explains.
“Oh yeah?” you giggle. He sighs tiredly, plopping down on the bench. You join him.
“I ran into some trouble, you see. I was tracking an outlaw, one with a good bounty too. Then, well, he spotted me before I spotted him.”
“What do you mean?” you ask softly. With his right hand, he gestures to his left shoulder. You cock your head slightly, and with a grunt, he removes his long coat, revealing his white undershirt.
You gasp, seeing the dark stain on his shoulder. “Oh my god, are you alright?” you cry, worried. You gently reach up, pulling back the tattered fabric surrounding the wound with a delicate touch. Still, he winces, gritting his teeth in pain.
“I’ll be fine,” he says, somewhat gruffly. You pull back the shirt further and remove a clean handkerchief from your pocket. You carefully wipe at the blood, inspecting the sizeable wound.
“Otto, this goes right through your shoulder! We have to find you a doctor! How long have you had the wound?”
“Just a few hours,” he says dismissively.
“Otto!” you scold.
“Look, I don’t want a doctor. I don’t need a doctor,” he says stubbornly.
“You do! It’s going to need stitches, I mean, you must be in so much pain-” He stands abruptly, pushing away your hands.
“I don’t need a damn doctor, and I don’t need a damn mother either!” he says gruffly, agitated. You shrink back, your eyes falling to the ground.
“I just didn’t want-” you begin, but he cuts you off again.
“I knew this was a bad idea, damn it. You have your place, and I have mine.” He storms off, back to his horse. The gate to the graveyard clatters open harshly, and you stand up, following a ways behind him.
“What do you mean? Otto-” You reach out to grab his hand, but he throws you off again.
“You don’t understand, you can’t. This life isn’t for you. You have a home, a family, someone waiting up for you. You shouldn’t have anything to do with the likes of me, Y/N. You’ll never understand me, and it was selfish of me to expect anything different.”
“Oh, so you think I don’t care?” you cry. He stops, turning back to you, looking down at you with such profound loneliness, such sadness, you feel your heart shatter.
“Worse. You care too much.”