Chapter Text
Chapter 8: Double Date
“I fell into a burning ring of fire/ I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher.”
July 1899
Sean is back! We had a party for him and we sang and drank. I beat Tilly in this drinking thing she thought of. Remember to give her the money back, place it in her belongings if not accepted.
Arthur…
Joan scratched Arthur's name from her journal. She didn’t want to remember that moment from last night. That moment when Arthur and Mary-Beth danced together. They just danced, a lot of people were dancing, it was a party. She was being ridiculous. Anyways other things also happened like her conversation with Charles.
“What you writing?” Charles asked, sitting next to her on the round table near Pearson camp as he began spreading out the items for their hunt: rope, arrows, knives, a small pouch of herbs. His movements were calm, methodical, and grounded.
The night of the party Charles had gone to a slightly drunk Miss Grimshaw for permission to take Joan out. The older woman seemed extremely pleased that the younger girl she had helped raise was doing something. Drunken words are sober thoughts as they say. It was best to leave camp before her memory came back though.
“Oh it 's just a reminder. Been forgetting lots of things lately.” Answered Joan with a small smile. “Want my help?”
“No, it’s okay.” Charles replied, his knife scraping along the side of a block of wood as he sharpened it. The rhythmic sound eased the tension in her shoulders.
Joan nodded, her breath catching a little as something fluttered in her chest: excitement, nerves, both. “It’s gonna be like up in the mountains when we hunt the deer's,” she remembered aloud. In truth, she was a little nervous to hunt such a big animal. The last time she used a gun was with the bear that Hosea so badly wanted to hunt. She did it out of fear and to protect.
“Yeah, but this time with guns…why? You never used a gun?” Charles' voice lowered but his tone wasn’t harsh. He seemed to want to know the truth, to even teach her if needed.
“I have but I’m not the best. Last time was to scare something.” Joan admitted.
Charles nodded, taking in what she said. “There is a first time for everything.” The long hair man gave her a smile which Joan returned.
From behind her, Joan could hear grass crunching. She didn’t even get time to turn around before a voice spoke up.
“Hey, Joan, you busy?” Arthur appeared walking around so he could be face to face with her. “Hi Charles.”
Joan couldn’t meet Arthur's eyes. She held embarrassment of her own behavior that most likely no one saw. She didn’t know why she kept thinking back to seeing Arthur with his hand around Mary-Beth's waist. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t wearing his ring and for the first time since the bands were placed around her ring finger she took them off.
“Oh, um, Charles and I are going hunting.”
“Hunting for what?” Arthur's voice was slowly glancing back and forth between Charles and Joan.
There was a beat of silence before Charles answered, “Bison.”
“Bison?” Arthur repeated, eyebrows lifting. He finally looked at Joan, who forced herself to look back. His mouth parted slightly, surprise written plainly on his face. “And where did you see them?”
“By the plains.” Charles replied simply.
“You think you have enough weapons. I mean they’re very big animals.”
The young woman eyes the blonde man, “I’m sure Charles knows what he is doing.” Her tone is slightly bitter, but she’s only reacting because she’s reading into what Arthur had said. Although it seemed like Charles did the opposite.
“You can come if you like. Teach you how to hunt one.” Charles had stood up with everything needed in hand.
Joan wasn’t going to tell Arthur not to come, he can do whatever he wishes. All she can do is swallow the spit that formed in her mouth and follow Charles to the horses, Arthur not far behind them.
The men’s horses were both hitched in different points in the camp: Arthur near the entrance and Charles near where the girls cots laid. It was like a small cross road where they separated, Arthur eyes followed Joan as she followed Charles. She assumed by now that dark hair man had guessed that whatever was bothered her the night prior had something to do with the blonde.
There was a weird silence as Joan sat behind Charles, holding onto the saddle instead of his waist. Joan obviously knew that seeing Arthur and Mary-Beth dancing with one another was what was bothering her, but why? They were married, yes, but because of one of Dutch's big plans so why did it matter. She often wondered what would be thought of her if she said no. Would she be seen just as useless as someone like Uncle. Even then Uncle had brought forth things to the gang; he didn’t have to wait for an injured person to fall into his hands like Joan did.
Joan never really talked to Arthur like if they were friends prior to their marriage–obviously they had spoken but more for chores and what not. He was older than her and when she joined the gang at thirteen he was already doing missions. She wasn’t like John who didn’t have a father nor mother; she had her father. She didn’t need another man to play that role and even when he did pass they all said their sorrows and she continued to age.
“It was before my time, of course, but my mother used to tell me stories of how her tribe moved with the Bison.” Charles broke the silence and began to explain to Arthur everything he told her last night. How the Bison provided so much for him and his people like food, clothing, shelter, and tools. Where the animal went his people went.
“I think my people just went with the whiskey.” Arthur commented, his voice sounding honest.
Charles chuckled, “My father did too. And yours Joan?”
The young woman hummed, not truly paying attention to their conversations.
“Charles asked about your father, Louis, Joan.” Arthur repeated. For the first time in a long time the name of her father was mentioned. She wouldn’t say this to anyone but she was beginning to forget it.
“He came from some Spanish speaking county.” Joan mumbles.
“Do you know which?” Charles asked but Joan just shrugged. Her brain was the most foggy when she thought of her parents, she had bigger things to deal with especially in the gang. No matter how much she missed them, she couldn’t remember if she tried.
Arthur was the one that answered for Joan. “I think Cuba, no?”
“And your mother?”
That question Joan could answer a little differently. “She was born in America.” The young woman could remember things about her father: Certain moments, things that happened, etc. With her mother…she could remember her on her death bed.
Every time Joan wanted to remember how her mother or father looked she would stare at a mirror and examine all her features. She would gamble which ones belonged to which and comfort herself that she had the face of two individuals that loved each other.
She was so lost in thought that she only noticed they had arrived at their destination when Charles turned around to look at her. “Incredible aren't they.” He said.
Down below a herd of bison munched on some grass, their hulking bodies dipping in and out of the tall sun-bleached grass. Dust clung to their shaggy coats, catching the light in warm flecks, unbothered by anything beyond their own rhythm. Even the calves were still massive compared to anything she was used to hunting, that being some deer and rabbit.
“We should only hunt one.” Charles reached onto the side of his horse to get a rifle. He passed it on to her because that is why he brought her here. He was going to teach her how to hunt a bison and the purpose of all the things it can give. “As clean as you can.”
Joan nodded, taking the rifle from him, she turned to Arthur who stared at her from his horse with a frown.
“Arthur will help get them ringed in.” Charles motioned for Arthur to circle wide, and Joan watched Arthur tug at the reins, his jaw tight as he guided his horse down the slope. The bison herd became aware of their presences, lifting their massive heads as Arthur angled behind them. Dust rose around him in lazy clouds, catching in the sunlight like drifting smoke.
“Get into position,” he murmured. “Wait until one turns broadside.”
Joan inhaled and lifted the rifle. It felt heavier today, or maybe her arms were just weaker from nerves. She lined up her sights, breath shivering in her chest. One of the bigger bison paused to tear up a mouthful of grass, its side perfectly open.
Now.
The shot cracked through the air, echoing across the plains. The bison jerked its head up but only in surprise. It didn’t fall. It didn’t even stumble. The bullet had missed entirely. “Little higher,” Charles coached gently.
“Right,” Joan whispered, teeth pressing together. She adjusted, heart tapping hard against her ribs.
She fired again. This time the bullet clipped dirt, sending up a puff of dust just behind the animal’s hooves.
The herd began to move, unsettled now, snorting and shifting their weight. Arthur turned his horse sharply, pushing them back into a slow circle, giving her another opportunity. His eyes flicked toward her and in that moment they locked eyes. ‘He could have done this in a minute’ she thought, growing impatient with herself.
Joan swallowed, her palms damp around the stock. The rifle wobbled, not enough to be seen, but enough for her to feel it. Why couldn’t she steady her hands? She’d done harder things. She’d faced down a bear, she’d survived worse, she stitched up worse!
She tried again.
And missed again.
Her breath hitched in a mix of frustration and something sharp and stinging behind her eyes. Charles said nothing this time, but she felt his patience, warm and steady, like he was giving her space to figure herself out.
Arthur, however, shifted in his saddle. His shoulders tightened. His horse pawed the dirt in irritation.
She aimed a fourth time, biting down the embarrassment, the heat in her cheeks, the rising irritation bubbling in her chest like a shaken bottle. The bison moved again, its pacing slow but constant, and the sight wavered just enough to ruin the shot.
Another miss.
“God-dammit!” she yelled, but the crack in her voice betrayed the sting building inside.
She lowered the rifle, fingers stiff around the barrel. Her shoulders pulled tight, tension coiling in her neck. She didn't want to look at Arthur. Didn't want to see disappointment. Or pity. Or that frown he’d been wearing ever since he rode up to them.
Charles reached out, voice soft, “Take a breath, Joan. You’re alright.”
“Arthur, you do it!” She yelled from where she and Charles positioned themselves.
Without a second to waste, Arthur grabbed his own rifle and shot one of them. Joan's perception of the blonde man was something he was always meeting. Why wouldn’t he? He goes hunting and on missions constantly; the man for the job. All Joan could do was push some of her curls that fell from her bun back behind her ears, clenching them
Charles rode down to where Arthur and fallen bison were. With just one shot, the animal was no longer with us. It wasn’t like when Joan and Charles had last gone hunting and her bad shooting gave the deer a horrible death. Arthur knew what he was doing.
Getting off Charles' horse, Taima, Joan walked over to the animal already knowing what she had to do. She grabbed the pocket knife that she had put in the pocket of her skirt and began to skin it. She knew how to skin an animal due to Mr. Pearson but her father also used to go hunting in the swamp from where she grew up. It wasn’t like she helped her dad, she kinda just sat on the horse or on a log and complained like a child would. But with Pearson it was different. He wouldn’t yell at her like Miss Grimshaw–he might tease her but anyone that would listen to his stories, even by force, was wanted for his help.
Charles had walked off so that left Arthur and Joan together. “You want help?” Arthur crouched down to her level. Joan shook her head, continuing with the process.
A beat of silence followed before Arthur spoke again, “Did I do something? I didn’t mean to offend ya if I did.”
It hit her in that moment that her silent treatment towards Arthur was ridiculous because they were just two people stuck together by force. Were they becoming friends? Yes. And friends don’t get made when one dances with someone else. If she wanted to dance with him she should have asked. She was drunk, confused, and maybe a little hung over. All good reasons for why she was acting this way.
Sighing, she looked into his blue eyes with a frown, she shook her head before giving a simple and firm yet quiet, “No.” Joan stood up and placed the pelt on Taima.
“I saw some scavenger birds over there.” Charles pointed to the direction he had walked off too. His pace was quick getting onto his horse.
Since the pelt was now on Taima's back there was no room for Joan to ride alongside. Anyways Charles was already on the move. Sensing the long hair man tone of voice, Joan walked to Arthur's horse. He extended his hand out immediately to help her get on his horse, his finger caressing that of her hand.
“Maybe some deer that attracted them.” Joan yelled to Charles as Arthur tried to catch up with him.
She couldn’t be more wrong. When they went further up the slope, the sight of three bison laid on the ground. All opened up with their rib cages showing.
Arthur hissed and Joan groaned at the sight but Charles' reaction was more different. After a moment of taking it in, the duo on the horse looked away but Charles remained looking. “No…no!”
“Why would someone do that?” Arthur asked.
Charles stared at the ground, his eyes small, focusing intensely on it. Joan looked down as well at the dirt and then back at Charles slightly confused.
“There are tracks going this direction.” Charles informed immediately following them.
Arthur and Joan looked at one another, both their eyebrows furrowed. Arthur pulls on the reins of his horse trying to keep up with the man. “You don’t think it couldn’t be an animal?” asked Joan.
“No, they’ve been shot. I don’t know why anybody would just leave them there to rot like that.”
As they continued to follow Charles they spotted more dead bison and the long haired man became more anxious. It put Joan into perspective even if she couldn’t relate to the man. Charles is a cool and collected man–kind by nature. Ever since he arrived at the camp all those months ago, she could already tell he had a whole life lived already. If there is a reason for him to be bothered, in Joan's eyes it is valid. So, once a smoke caught the attention of Charles there was no stopping him.
“Charles, wait up!” Arthur tried to catch up.
Charles was already off his horse with his hand near his hoister. His back was firm and the muscles of his arms pushed through his shirt. “Did you fool shoot those Bison?” Charles integrated.
There were two men on a slope with tents and weapons surrounding them, their face smogged and their eyes rolling. “What’s your problem?”
“I said," Did you shoot those Bison!”
When Arthur and Joan arrived the tension in the air was tight but all of it came from Charles. The men cursed slurs at him but it resulted in one of their deaths. Charles, a man who questioned death, had been so quick to shoot the man on the left without mercy or a second thought.
Joan startled at the sound, her shoulders jerking violently as if the noise had struck her directly. Her breath caught high in her chest but her body reacted before her mind did. She moved forward on instinct, one step taken too many, the ground feeling suddenly unsteady beneath her.
Arthur’s hand was on her before she could register what was happening. His grip was firm but not rough, fingers closing around her shoulder with practiced certainty as he pulled her back against him, guiding her behind the solid line of his body.
The still living man to the right had fallen to the floor, his hand and legs moving as he backed up from Charles. “Look, I have a family, please! Don’t shoot me!” The man begged Charles.
The beggar worried was toward Charles, not noting the closeness Arthur was getting. It happened quick, too quick for Joan to even recognize what was happening. Her mouth was slightly ajar watching Arthur place his body on top of the scared man. His hand gripping his jaw and the other forming a fist close to his face.
A hit. Then a question, “Why are you killing those bison and leaving them to rot?” questioned Arthur.
It seemed although the man's own prejudices were stronger than the hit Arthur was giving. But something about Arthur that Joan knew was that he was willing to get to anyone level and beyond.
The young woman took this as a sign to go: her already tensed body and scattered breathing were already taking her back to the day an announcement was brought back upon her. It wasn’t her choice what was done with the man, it was Charles and noting all the muscles in his body she knew what was to be done.
She walked back down to the horses. Arthur’s mare nickered softly, and Joan rested her hand against the animal’s head, feeding her an apple she’d meant to save for later. The black hair woman grabbed onto her bed and fed the mare an apple. Taima, Charles's horse pressed against her seeing that now she is distributing food. A small smile formed on the woman's lip and gave Taima the other apple she had. She was going to eat them later after Charles and her finished the hunting lesson; but it seemed too foreign of a thought now as another gunshot was heard.
The man had mentioned he had a family but he could be lying; saying that he had a family to receive sympathy. The only thing that changed her opinions was the ring on his finger. She wondered what his wife or children, if he had, would do once the news of his death. Would they cry and hyperventilate like Joan did when she found out her father passed. Strange how this moment in time kept her in a loop; a loop that allowed her to struggle in silence.
A whistle alerted Taima, and she immediately left Joan's side. Just that simple motion was all she needed to know that Charles was no longer gonna spend the day with her. Maybe he never was; this was it, the bison and then back to camp. Although Joan leaving camp and learning something new was something she enjoyed.
Soft crunching of the grass came from behind her, “You okay?” Arthur asked, his hand going to the other side of his horse's mane but his eyes remained on Joan. She shrugged but still nodded her head; like what she had thought before, it was all in Charles hands. Her own emotions, memories, and beliefs are hers alone.
“You remember the man we saw the other day? The escapee?” Arthur began.
Joan looked up from the horse to lock eyes with Arthur. The man in question was a prisoner who seemed to escape. He came up behind when she needed a moment. She simply nods.
“He mentioned some robbery we could do–at some pig farm…we could go check it out or I could just take you back to camp.”
“Let's just rob them.” The answer for Joan came out quickly. She really wanted more money to show she was a helpful member of the camp. If putting some money in that box made her grin from ear to ear then whose to say that wont help her now. Without the blonde's help, she got on the horse's back.
Arthur stared up at her before sighing, he quickly got in front so he could hold onto the reins and guide the horse. He moved them onto the path away from the ledge and away from the two bodies. The earlier event not mentioned but not forgotten by either but this led to a continuation of the silence they had prior.
The yellowish short grass got longer and greenier, the sky changed to green leaves, and the sight of animals free and running around changed to the sight of them in pens. The entrance of emerald ranch came into view: a two story green painted house, big red barn house, and people walking on foot.
“I came here to help Hosea with something.” Arthur broke the silence, he directed his eyes to the side of the barn. A man stood there, his arms guarding his chest and his expression bored but his line of sight followed them as they entered the ranch.
Joan hummed in acknowledgement, “Who you rubbed?”
“The cousin by marriage of the guy we just passed.”
“What–” She let out a chuckle through her nose. “Like his sister's husband?”
“I suppose so…think his name was Seamus.”
The pair rode a little further along, passing a train station and entering the forest. When they entered the words the grass below them got darker and the noise around them seemed to quiet down. Joan noted that a few days back when Arthur and her neared the pig farm they didn’t just hear it–thyey smelled it. “You sure we are going the right way?”
Arthur hummed, “I heard it was through here.”
“Okay but it doesn’t smell like shit.”
“Maybe you’ve gotten used to the smell.” He joked, causing Joan to give a playful slap on his arms. “Okay okay–” He laughed before continuing, “Let’s just ride around for a while.”
So that was what they did for what might have been an hour, maybe a little longer. They rode at an easy pace, Arthur guiding the horse more by feel than direction, weaving between trees and low brush; his right arm letting go of the reins and fell to his side.
The forest pressed in around them, trunks standing close enough that Joan had to lean now and then to avoid low branches catching onto her hair. The quiet was thick, broken only by the soft crunch of hooves and the occasional creak of leather.
After a while, Joan shifted behind him, adjusting her seat. “You know,” she began, a small smile fell on her face, “if we’re lost, you can just say so.”
Arthur snorted. “I ain’t lost.”
She waited for a beat. Then another. “Mm,” she hummed. “Funny. That’s exactly what lost people say.”
He glanced back over his shoulder just enough to catch her small smile. “You sound real confident for someone who ain’t holdin’ the reins.”
“Well,” she replied, tilting her head, “I would be, if I weren’t entrusting my life to a man whose directions start with ‘I heard.’”
Arthur laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re awful mouthy for someone who slapped me not ten minutes ago.”
“That was encouragement,” she said easily. “You were clearly strugglin’.”
He scoffed. “Right. Next time I’ll be sure to thank you properly.”
They rode on a bit longer before Arthur slowed the horse, scanning the trees and right when they were about to give up the sight of horizontal wood caught her attention. She pulled on the back of Arthur's vest before she spoke. “Look over there. Between the trees. Looks like a house.”
Arthur leaned forward, his eyes squinting before nodding, “Yeah.” He mumbled slowly. Before he pulled the reins in the direction of the house, he turned to stare at her. “Are you sure you wanna rob this place?” He asked, his eyes traveling through all her features.
It didn’t take a second for Joan to nod. She felt so happy when she placed that money in that box, she felt useful. If the robbery goes right it will be her first and it could maybe make her feel better from her over reaction and the events from earlier today.
“I need you to give me a yes or a no.” He needed a verification even though she knew he knew that he wanted to do it simply by the way her eyes grew wide.
“Yes.”
With the simple three letter word, Arthur directed his horse to the house. “I’ll talk to them and you’ll try to find that money, ‘kay.” Arthur instructed. The home was two stories and had other small buildings scattered around it, but still no pig noise. Maybe they died but who knows.
When they passed by the front of the house, Joan could make out a large figure sitting on the porch. It was a heavy set man wearing overalls without a shirt. He must fit the description of appearance Arthur was given because Arthur rode closer. In the moment alone, Joan's excitement for the money got replaced by the man's smile at seeing them.
“Hey!” The man yelled out, “Don’t be shy, partner. There is no such thing as a stranger here.”
Arthur slowed the horse down when they were in front of the house, “Hello, Sir.” The blonde said in his fake polite voice. Unlike Joan who just stared at the man up and down, she was going to see “hi” but no words left her mouth.
“Don’t you two look like a busy and tired couple.” The man opinionated.
From behind him the door the house opened revealing a brown hair woman, shorter in height than the man wearing an apron. “Honey, you didn’t tell me we were having guests over.” Her voice sounded like a fork dragging through a plate. Her eyes going up and down Arthur and only giving a glance to Joan.
“Espically one so handsome.” She declared looking directly at Arthur. “I would have fixed myself up nice.” Her arm wrapped around the waist of what Joan assumed was her husband. His hands followed, going around her shoulder pulling her closer.
“Aw, you know you're the perfect princess.” The man told his wife.
Arthur and Joan eyes flicked to one another, her mouth slightly ajar and his eyes wide but they both went back to their poker faces and stared right ahead at the couple.
“Why don’t you and your lady friend come in?” The man told Arthur, “You both seemed tired and my wife just finished cooking something.”
“Oh how kind of you.” Joan's voice felt flat as she tried to smile even though her heart was beating loudly and her stomach dropped. She could feel her hands, which rested upon the skirt of her dress, feeling warm and sticky.
“Just hitched your horse over and you could rest up in here. We got food on the stove and a bottle of the good stuff we have been saying.” The couple laughed as the man finished speaking.
“That's very kind of you.” Arthur said in the kindest voice he could muster. Joan assumed his strategy was the act dumb and made it seem like they were easy to rob, to feel and seem under estimated.
Even off the horse Joan continued to dry her hands around the skirt of her dress. She looked around trying to see if maybe there was a pig pen nearby…nothing. Hopefully they’re at the wrong place for they can get the hell out of there; but even then Arthur seemed sure of himself. If the people didn’t match the words that were spoken to him, he would have walked off.
The horse was blocking the two couples so quickly when Arthur got off, he lifted up his shirt to show his gun in his hustle. She nodded, pushing her hands into the pocket of her skirt feeling out the pocket knife.
“It seems like we are spending our afternoon with good company!” The man beamed as Arthur and her got closer.
“So, I decided to freshen up.” The woman announced heading inside the house.
The first thing Joan saw when she got inside the wooden home was the painting of a woman with pale skin, black pushed back hair, and a very non expressional amusement on her face. To her left was a dining table with more than two chairs. Did the couple have children? Or are they always having guests over?
“I hope she ain’t primping for hours up there or we’ll never never eat.” The man who sat at the head of the table spoke. “You can't relate right dear.”
This caught Joan's attention. She didn’t know how to exactly react to his small insult, she could confirm that she wasn't the must put together individual. With her curly hair pointing at her direction and the spots of dirt in her skin or dress that she had gotten from doing work at camp. Even then if someone looked like her or far worse she wouldn’t think of mentioning it out loud.
All she managed was a quiet chuckle, thin and automatic. When her body shifted and her back turned to him, she rolled her eyes where he couldn’t see, jaw tightening as the moment settled uncomfortably in her chest.
“Why don’t you both go check on her.” The man said but it sounded more like an order.
“Both?” Arthur had to repeat.
“Well sure! Get to know the place.”
The feeling in Joan's stomach and heart got far stronger and the hold she had on her pocket knife got tighter. Did they know why they were there? I mean if the couple did then they wouldn’t be making it this obvious, right? They wouldn’t be this careless?
To push Arthur along the man complimented, “She won't listen to me but she sure would listen to a handsome fellow like yourself.”
The young woman's eyes flickered through the blonde who pulled his lips into a line. Arthur looked so annoyed and Joan would laugh if this was another occlusion but not even a smile formed on her face. They need to get that money and head out.
The pair turned the corner to walk up the stairs, Arthur instructions were clear as he pointed to himself and then the bedroom door to then point to Joan and to the right. He talked. She explored. And with that they headed the hell out of there.
The furniture in the room was large and heavy, drawers slightly already opened as she opened and closed them with care, each movement slow and controlled. She hoped that one of them would hold money, anything of value. The quicker she found something, the quicker they could be gone, and the sooner she wouldn’t have to hear that woman’s voice floating through the house, sweetened and sharp all at once.
She bit her lip as she searched. Clothes. Papers. Useless things. In one drawer, she paused only long enough to snatch a silver bracelet, its cool weight pressing into her palm. It could be sold to the fence man in Emerald Ranch. Or given to camp. Either way, it would count.
Then she opened the wardrobe.
The sight of the skull made her recoil instantly, feet scrambling backward as her breath hitched hard in her throat. Her hand flew up to her mouth, covering the gasp before it could escape. She knew it! she had known something was wrong. Whether these people were the pig farmers they were looking for or not, there was something deeply, unmistakably off and wrong about them.
She shut the wardrobe door carefully, heart pounding so loudly she was certain it could be heard. She needed Arthur. Now. She needed to tell him what she’d seen.
“It’s alright, lookin’ ain’t a crime.”
The voice came from just beyond the door.
Joan froze, fingers whitening around the handle, her pulse roaring in her ears. Her lips pressed tight against her teeth as she fought to steady her breathing, every muscle coiled and ready.
“Miss, my wife and I are in a hurry,” Arthur said from the other room. His voice was calm, even, without a trace of hesitation.
“Oh,” the woman replied. Even through the closed door, Joan could hear the confusion creeping into her tone. “She’s your wife?”
A beat passed. “But she’s not wearing a ring.”
The words lingered, thin and pointed, and Joan’s stomach dropped as if the floor beneath her had shifted. Joan's thumb rubbed the place where her rings had been. There was a little tan there now from all the day the sun had reflected on them and on the skin around them. She had placed the ring in her belongings when she saw Arthur wasn’t wearing his yesterday.
Joan opened the door to the bedroom and instead of seeing the woman on top of Arthur, she saw there was a big gap between them. One that couldn’t be made as quickly as the opening of the door. Both Arthur and the woman turned to look at Joan who gulped. “Excuse me but your husband is waiting for you.”
The woman had a smirk on her face, “Okay I’ll be right down.”
Joan quickly shut the door after Arthur walked out, “What’s wrong?” He whispered, leaning close. His eyes traveled all around her body.
“There's a skull in the wardrobe.”
The look on his face hardened into something alert and sharp, his jaw tightening as he leaned closer, putting his hand on Joan's shoulder and gripping it. “A skull?” he repeated quietly, disbelief edged with something colder. His eyes flicked back to Joan’s face, reading her the way he always did when something felt off.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Right there. In the wardrobe. Clean. Like it’d been there a while.”
Behind them they heard footsteps and taking this as a sign, both of them walked down the stairs fairly quickly in hopes of not meeting with that woman. They tried to put their most straight and unbothered face on. Even then, Joan's hand was in her pocket holding her knife harder.
“She said just a minute." Arthur informed the heavy set man who cheered.
Joan took a seat next to Arthur and he took a sight to the right of the man. Being this close to a man who she had just discovered literally had skeletons in his closet made her stomach feel like she was on a boat in the middle of the ocean going through a rain storm.
She thought about what games this couple was playing. Were they going to murder Arthur and Joan when they weren’t looking? Were they going to steal all their personal belongings? It feels strange because in turn Arthur and Joan were going to rob them but they didn’t play in people's faces the way they did. One pair were liars and the other were sick in the head. This simple thought made Joan leg shake but in a quick moment she felt Arthur hand reaching underneath the tables and holding hers. He tightened the hold once before letting go and placing his hands back to his side, near his gun.
The footsteps of someone coming down were heard and the woman appeared again. This time with her hair down and wearing a red dress with a very low neck line. Joan's eyes immediately looked away and she swallowed some spit that had begun to form.
The man with a smile on his face hit the table at the sight of his wife, “Now isn’t this just a moment you wish could last forever. Two couples—I mean I assume you are a couple or she is your mistress of some kind, this is a double date!”
Arthur browed furrowed at the comment, “You know we can't really stay long.”
The woman brought four plates of food onto the table, a bottle of what looked like wine or rather “the good stuff” as named by the man earlier. It was some kind of meat with rice and some vegetables. “You always cook for more than two people?” It was supposed to be an inside thought but the curly hair woman spoke rather quickly.
The other woman didn’t answer, she only glanced and then a small smirk found her lips. It was the man who answered for his wife, “Of course she does! She’s generous like that.” The man lovingly held his wife's hand and led her to sit on his leg.
The fork given to Joan didn’t come to direct contact with any of the food. It only moved the meat around and pushed the rice back and forth. That feeling in her stomach only worsened when she saw Arthur bring the meat. Her eyes had widened and her shook expression instantly alerted Arthur who lowered the meat.
The wife sat next to her husband now instead of his lap and she began to eat just as quickly as the man. Only the man took a second to chew and swallow before talking, “You know what, this place used to be a pig farm when we was kids.” As the man spoke, the woman's smile instantly dropped. “Before we lost our ma and pa.”
Slowly Joan lifted her head from the staring contest she was having with the food and stared at the now correct pig farm owners. She couldn’t even pretend to fake her shock as her mouth instantly opened. She slowed to turn to Arthur to see that his expression also matched hers: mouth wide. Eyes wide. The flirting of the couple or rather siblings made Joan breakfast rise up to her throat.
The sibling's attention on each other was broken when they remembered they were not alone. They looked at Arthur and Joan like both of them had grown another head for a second before their usual smiles rose up again, “Where are my manors, drink!” The woman poured a glass for everyone on the table. One for her, her husband, Arthur Morgan, and Joan Baez.
The woman got up, sitting again on her brother's lap closer to the side Arthur and Joan were sitting well not for long. Joan's chair scratched the wood beneath her at how fast she moved. She was now standing up, her hand still in her pocket. “I don’t eat meat!” She declared rather loudly.
“Oh?” One of the siblings said.
“Nor do I drink…So, this is a moment for him and I to leave.” Joan grabbed Arthur arm pulling him up to his feet. The glass filled with liquid fell onto the floor. “Oh I’m so sorry.” The not caring tone was clear as the two siblings looked at her with absolute disgust.
“You don’t have to be so boring.” The man told her.
The only thing Joan could do was laugh and strengthen her grip onto Arthur's arm pulling him out of the door. “And the time is getting so late.” She continued as she walked backwards to where the exit is. Her eyes were focused on the brother and sister until something caught her eye. The painting of the woman in front of the door seemed to be crooked.
The prisoner who gave them the tip of the robbery said that they had lots of money. Joan remembered that because when she wrote in her diary about what had occurred the day Arthur and her went to get Emmet quote those words replayed. It had to be there, a perfect hiding spot. Only Joan now changed their strategy to get the money.
When they reached a small distant from the house Joan let out, “What the fuck.” As she cursed her hand was in the air. “I knew there was something wrong with them–freak siblings wanting other people present for their freak show.”
Joan moved frantically back and forth as she rambled, “That meat, probably ain't meat. Like where the fuck are their pigs!” She continued until her eyes locked with the window of the dining room.
“The money is behind the painting on the wall.” She informed me.
“What?”
Joan's eyes went back to Arthur, “Our plan is still on.”
“Excuse me!”
“You go in there, their distract them and I get the money.”
“And talk about what?” Arthur snarled at her.
“I don’t know? Me! Make fun of me? Say I’m controlling or something.”
Arthur stared at her for half a second longer than comfortable, jaw looking as he thought. Then he exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound caught somewhere between irritation and reluctant admiration.
“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered.
“And you’re slow,” Joan shot back, already turning him by the arm. “Now go.”
Arthur adjusted his hat and forced the tension out of his shoulders as best he could, slipping back into that easy, half-lopsided demeanor he wore when he needed people to underestimate him. He turned toward the house, boots crunching against the dirt as he approached the door again, posture loose, unthreatening.
Joan stayed just out of sight, her fingers caressing Arthur horse’s mane, heart thudding so loudly one might think it was in her hand.
From where she stood she watched Arthur walk in again, his voice calling out seeming a little jolly.
Slowly the young woman made her way to the door pushing slightly open to hear the voices of the siblings and Arthur.
The brother stood there, grin returning like it had never left. “Change your mind already?”
Arthur tipped his head, thumb hooking into his belt. “Figured we left on a sour note. Thought maybe we could share a smoke. Clear the air a little.”
Behind him, the sister leaned into the doorway, eyes narrowing. “Where’s the lady?”
Arthur didn’t hesitate. “By the horse. You know, I need some space from her from time to time.”
The brother barked out a laugh. “Smart man. Don’t let that woman control you.” Joan rolled her eyes at this comment.
That earned a snort, and finally the sibling began to move to the kitchen and another door opened, the back door. That was Joan’s cue.
She moved fast but quiet, slipping through the front door and into the house like a shadow. The air inside felt heavier now, thick with grease and something sour beneath it. She didn’t hesitate, her eyes went straight to the painting that was right in front of her.”
Up close, it was worse than she remembered. The woman’s eyes followed her, glassy and dull, mouth set in a way that made Joan’s skin crawl. She reached up, fingers sliding along the frame. It wasn’t nailed in, just resting.
She lifted it carefully, breath held, and there it was.
A recessed space in the wall, stuffed tight with folded bills, coins wrapped in cloth, even a small pouch that clinked softly when she touched it. Joan didn’t stop to count. She swept everything into her satchel with practiced speed, hands steady despite the adrenaline buzzing through her veins.
She replaced the painting exactly as she’d found it, nudging it until it sat crooked again.
Outside, laughter drifted through the open window.
Arthur’s voice, easy. “Ain’t seen land this quiet in a while.”
Joan slipped back out the door, hugging the wall as she moved away from the house. She didn’t slow until she reached the horse, fingers trembling.
The curly hair woman got onto the blondes onto the horse just as the man in question moved around the corner of the house. He mounted in one smooth motion, reins snapping once as he urged the horse forward. They needed to get out of here quickly before the siblings realized they had been robbed.
Not until the house was far behind them, closer to Horseshoe overlook tha emerald ranch. What would have taken maybe an hour or two to get there took them far shorter time as they cut through every path they possibly could. So when Arthur slowed down his horse, Joan instantly got off.
“Yes!” She yelled jumping up and down. This was her first successful robbery. One wouldn’t believe a few weeks ago she lost her own dollar out of her own stupidity. Her locket hit her chest as it rose with her.
“Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Arthur!” She handed the money to Arthur right away so he could count it.
Before he even counted the dollars, coins, and everything else, Arthur glanced over at her, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth despite the tension still sitting in his eyes. His fingers were light on the cash in his mind–there was no care for it at that moment.
“So how much is it?” Joan walked quickly to him. She looked up with big eyes and an even bigger smile. “Oh I forgot.” She went to hand him the silver bracelet but she stopped in track. “How much you think this cost?”
“Five. Six. Maybe eight dollars. Why?”
“Can I keep it?”
Arthur instantly nodded to her before he began to count the money. He double counted quickly, it looked like he had done this hundred close to a thousand times. “237. 85.” He informed.
Joan did the math in her head, “That around 118 for both of us. Right?”
“Correct!”
Arthur folded the bills neatly, tapping them once against his palm before separating the stacks. He held one out to her without ceremony, the motion easy and practiced, like this was the most natural thing in the world.
“Here,” he said.
Joan took the money with a large smile, surprised by the warmth still clinging to it from his hand. She tucked it carefully into her satchel, fingers lingering a second longer than necessary before pulling away.
Arthur cleared his throat.
“Joan,” he said, not looking at her at first. Then he did. “Can I ask you somethin’?”
The shift in his tone made her stomach dip. She looked around before nodding. “Yeah.”
His gaze flicked quickly to her eyes and then down to her hand. To the bare skin where her ring usually sat now looked naked with a small tan. “You ain’t wearin’ your ring.”
Joan swallowed the spit that formed her mouth.
The image came back uninvited: Arthur’s hand at Mary-Beth’s waist, the way they’d moved together, easy and unthinking. The way she’d noticed, only after, his hand was bare too. Heat crept up her neck, embarrassment and something sharper tangling together in her chest. She wasn’t going to tell him that she felt strange that Arthur, a man who was her friend, danced with another woman. She opened her mouth, already forming a lie but Arthur spoke again.
“That day,” he continued quietly, “I didn’t wear mine ‘cause I was worried someone might take it. Figured if things went sideways when I went to get Sean, I didn’t wanna lose it.”
The words landed gently. Not accusatory. Not defensive. Just honest.
Joan blinked, then nodded, her cheeks warming. “Oh um okay.”
She looked down at her own hand, thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the faint tan line where the ring usually sat. “Yeah, same I didn’t want mine gettin’ dirty,” she said. The excuse felt thin even to her ears, but it was the only thing that came out.
Arthur studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Fair enough.”
The tension eased, not gone, but softened, folded away like the money he’d just counted.
They rode the rest of the way to camp in a quieter rhythm. They were close by so they just enjoyed the silence as they rode slowly over the afternoon sun and the warmer air. By the time they arrived, the sun had dipped lower, throwing long shadows across the tents and wagons. The familiar noise of camp wrapped around them: voices, laughter, the clink of cookware.
When they rode a voice called out, “Who is it?” It was Charles' voice as he was taking guard. He seemed to have calmed down on the outside but who knew what was going on inside. She offered a small smile to him which he returned.
When Arthur hitched his horse, Joan looked at Arthur blue eyes before speaking, “Thank you for taking me out to rob. I had… it was really fun!” A toothy smile formed on her face.
Arthur nodded, “Maybe for next time you could take another horse.”
The young woman could only nod and repeated his words, “Next time.”
The both went their separate ways, Arthur to Dutch and Joan went straight to the camp box and slipped her share inside, careful, deliberate. A contribution. Proof they’d done what they set out to do. She gave 10 dollars out of the 118. She obviously didn’t want to give it all of it. This is the most money she ever had and she has wanted to do something with it, maybe save some aside to give to camp, go to valentine with Abigail and Jack, maybe if something in camp broke she could buy it and fix it.
When she turned, she spotted Tilly nearby. The young woman with the yellow dress sat on a rock overlooking the edge of the sun. Without overthinking it, Joan walked over and pressed the silver bracelet into her hand.
“For you,” she said simply.
Tilly’s eyes widened. “For what?”
”You remember yesterday you gave me that money…well I wanted to give something back.”
Tilly smiled, warm and genuine, and pulled her into a quick hug, “You didn’t have to but thank you!” The hug lasted a few more seconds before Tilly drifting off, already admiring the way the bracelet caught the light.
Joan took a sight where Tilly once sat, looking at the scene before her trying to paint a picture of it in her mind, she hoped she could remember for ever.
From across camp, now in his own tent, Arthur's eyes flickered up to Joan from time to time. His journal was resting against his thigh and his pencil in hand, he didn’t call out. Didn’t move. Just recalled her expression throughout the day, how it started with her eyes narrow and lips in a straight line to big eyes and a toothy grin.