Chapter Text
“...when I returned back home, less one leg but granted a generous pension for my ‘sacrifice,’ well, I’d found she’d still ran off with my cousin!” Hamish finished his story with a laugh. “I suppose I was relieved, in the end. I have the whole of nature to keep me company up here, and it wouldn’t have been a happy way of livin’ for a woman anyway.”
Arthur laughed along with Hamish and brought his cup of coffee to his lips to take a drink. They were sitting at the table in the veteran’s cabin while a fire burned in the hearth, pleasantly heating the small home and keeping out the mountain chill.
He’d shown up to accept Hamish’s invitation to go on a hunt, and when they ended up settling in to exchange stories about their lives instead, it was a welcome surprise. It had been a long time since he’d allowed anyone to really get to know him, and this slow, quiet time with the older man felt like a sanctuary from the dark clouds of an unrelenting storm that had settled over everything the gang touched.
Though they’d managed to make it off Guarma, what they came back to was no kind of relief. His mind was fractured and pulled in so many directions, it was hard to think straight most of the time. Even if it was just for the afternoon, he was grateful to get some respite from the squall.
“What about you, Arthur?” Hamish asked with a wry smile. “Any woeful tales of lost love?”
The question had been an innocent one, but Arthur’s stomach clenched at hearing it.
“Oh, I don’ know, Hamish…”
“If I could swallow my pride to entertain you with a good tale, I think I’m owed somethin’ in return!” Hamish playfully banged the table with his fist.
Arthur couldn’t blame the man for not knowing what he was asking. He blew out an unsteady breath and took another sip of the warm, bitter liquid. Staring into his cup, he ran through an endless field of memories, trying to decide how to start.
“There’s just been the one, honestly,” he finally managed. “When I was young. The daughter of this miserable sonofabitch who owned the mill in a town we was passin’ through. Mary.” Even speaking her name aloud made it feel like his ribcage was shrinking around his chest. “She caught me sneakin’ 'round the mill one day, obviously up to no good. Somethin’ about her drew me in, and pretty soon, I couldn’t stay away. Eventually, I asked her t'marry me, t'run away with me. And I thought she would…”
The words weren’t coming readily, and Arthur paused to fortify himself with more coffee. He’d been trying to avoid thinking about Mary - more from his own shame than anything.
“...but it was complicated, as you can guess,” he continued. “She married some other fella, and I didn’t hear from her for years. Then I get a letter that she…wanted to see me. We’d somehow ended up in the same town after all that time.” He shook his head, recalling everything that followed that single, fateful coincidence. “Turned out she needed some help with her family. She’d been made a widow, and, despite everythin', I never could say no to her. After that, we got…involved again. And it was different than before. Like somethin' I’d dreamed of, but I certainly hadn’t expected. She made me feel like I never had in my life, Hamish. She saw…the kinda man I could be before I did. ”
“Those are some…beautiful words, Arthur.” Hamish was observing him keenly and his voice was rich with a soft reverence. “She sounds like quite the woman.”
“She is. But words is all they are.” Arthur’s own voice caught in his throat.
He didn’t want to meet Hamish’s gaze, so his attention meandered around the veteran’s homestead. The Tyrant - mounted above the fireplace - stared at him with a pair of dark and vacant glassy orbs. The day they wrestled that watery beast into submission was a fond memory among the recent cascade of disasters. He wondered if Hamish would ever have any idea what a necessary distraction these visits had been for him.
“I’ve gotta be honest with ya, Hamish. I’m…sick.” The admission was like removing a warm layer of clothing. He felt chilled, unprotected, with an alarming helplessness laid bare. Arthur hadn’t wanted to burden the old veteran - since there wasn’t anything to be done about the wretched truth, anyway - and the last thing he needed was more pity. He sucked in a quick breath and steeled himself, looking for the resolve he needed to continue.
“Anyway. S’all the result of my own foolishness. I don’ know how much time I’ll have left, but I’m seein’ more clearly now. And there are some things I need t'do, t'set right. Some people that need helpin’. And I wouldn’t wish my sorry state on Mary, not after everythin’ she’s already endured.”
“I see.” Hamish leaned back in his chair and the small wooden seat responded with a sharp creak of protest. “I’m so sorry, my friend. How’d she take it?”
“Whaddaya mean?” The question forced Arthur out of the pit he’d been hiding in since the night he stepped off the boat from Guarma in Van Horn.
“Your Mary? How’d she take it when you told ‘er?” The older man’s expression was warm with genuine concern and care. For Arthur...and for Mary.
It was a fair question. It was just one Arthur hadn’t really wanted to consider, or hear. He wasn’t dumb enough to think the nagging thought of her would just disappear. In fact, the more he tried to ignore it, the louder it shouted at him to wake up and take any kind of action.
“Well, I…I guess I haven’t. I can’t even tell ya the hell I’ve been through the past few weeks. And I told Mary I…couldn’t ask her t’wait for me, when I saw ‘er last.” The excuses spilled out of his mouth, but he immediately realized how hollow they all sounded.
“...but is she waitin’?” Hamish tilted his head to one side, eyebrows raised in something slightly less than an accusation. He clearly didn’t buy the excuses either.
“I don’ know, Hamish.” Blowing out out a heavy sigh, Arthur put his elbow up on the table with a dull thud to rest his forehead in his palm.
“I’m sorry Arthur, I’m not tryna needle ya.” Hamish raised his hands in a peace offering before he carefully continued, “...but if she means as much to you as you say, maybe you should tell ‘er.”
Arthur lifted his face from his hand. Some part of him thought he’d been protecting Mary by keeping his head down and trying like hell to let her go. All along, he’d just been protecting himself.
“I…suppose I should.”
He’d never be able to express his full gratitude to the older man, but he sensed Hamish already understood.
“What do you think? Another cup of coffee?" Hamish sat back up in his chair and gestured toward Arthur’s empty cup. “I can lighten the mood with some bloody stories about the war…”
Arthur chuckled despite himself. “Yeah, thank you. That sounds nice.”
The veteran carefully stood from the table and walked over to the wash basin to grab the pot of coffee. Arthur stared out the window behind him. The afternoon sunlight was bright white and blinding behind the dark outlines of the trees growing just outside the homestead. Beyond the pines, he could see where the grass and shrubs gave way to the imposing dove-gray granite crags that circled the valley. There was an inherent peace to O’Creagh’s Run, and he understood why the old man had settled here.
Before Guarma, there had been moments he’d allowed himself to dream of a life in a place like this - a modest home on a plot of land, away from civilization, with a future of his own making. Unlike Hamish, however, what he envisioned for himself was not a solitary life.
There were a thousand different things he should tell Mary. Arthur knew that. He’d known it for weeks. Most of them were in conflict with each other and twisted together with what he wanted and what he believed about himself, and all that was clouded by the certainty of the end he would face. He hadn’t even trusted himself with the thought of her for fear of what he’d do or say. That precious dream had crumbled in his hands, demolished by his own misguided choices. And yet, he had gathered up the pieces that were left and still clung to them like they were the only lifeline he had.
What he was playing at, he still didn’t know, but Hamish was right. It was time to face all that and do the right thing.
Mary’s nose wrinkled as she stepped off the train in Annesburg. A fog of smoke hovered in the air, blanketing the town in a bitter aroma and obscuring the late afternoon sun with an ashen gauze. The journey here had been a long one, and her legs were stiff and achy from sitting. She walked a few more paces from the train car - her footsteps loud on the wooden planks of the platform - before taking a look around.
She knew it was a mining town, but she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting.
Every building Mary could see was dusted in soot. On the other side of the main road, beyond the train station, small cabins were clustered tightly together on a hill. Identical wood siding on each home was worn to a weathered gray, and in the hazy light, the little buildings looked washed out and the distinction between each individual structure hard to make out. They appeared almost huddled together, as if united against some unfriendly force. The fatigue of the battle against their environment showed on every inch of the little houses, and despite the homey feeling of the curls of smoke that spiraled from their chimneys, the cabins were alarmingly shabby and run-down. Mary hadn’t grown up in luxury by any means, but this settlement made the Gillis family home feel almost Elysian.
Further up the hill, smoke stacks churned out thick black clouds near what she figured must be the mine. Mary wondered what kind of person would expect anyone to live and work in such a place.
A man bumped into her from behind, his shoulder clipping hers as he trudged by. It knocked the suitcase out of her hand, and he whipped his head around to look at her.
“Get movin’ or get out of the way, lady!” he barked. His eyes were sunken and tired and his face smeared with dirt and soot.
“Pardon me, I’m so sorry, I…” Mary started to apologize, but the man had already turned back around and continued on his way.
Her breath rattled as she tried to regain her composure. Already full of nerves and nearly sick to her stomach, the sudden violence of the interaction had cracked the determination - or the delusion - that had brought her here.
Perhaps she was still more naive and sheltered than she could recognize. Buying the train ticket to Annesburg had been choiceless in so many ways, but something about this place seemed hardened and hostile.
Mary exhaled and picked her suitcase back up. It wasn’t the time to be so easily unnerved.
She walked around the crates, luggage, and lumber stacked on the platform and headed toward the station. Pushing her way through the dingy white door, she entered the building and followed the hallway around the corner to the clerk’s window. The delicately embellished green wallpaper appeared out of place - like it was meant for some grander depot - and the cheerful tune being played by a man with an accordion in the seating area lent a surreal air to what had already been a dreamlike journey.
As Mary approached the ticket window, the man behind the counter nodded to acknowledge her presence.
“Hi, I’m hoping you can help me? I’m looking for this man.” She fumbled for a moment in her pocket before pulling out the photograph she and Arthur had taken together all those years ago. She set it on the counter in front of the clerk. “It’s an old picture, but he posted a letter from here a week or so ago?”
“Ma’am, there are far too many homesick miners sending letters to their mothers for me to remember all their faces.” He slid the photograph back towards Mary without even a glance.
“No, I…I don’t think you understand. He’s not a miner. He would’ve been passing through, or…or maybe new to this area?” She pushed the picture towards the clerk again. “He would have facial hair now, and a scar on his chin. He…he almost always wears a black gambler’s hat?”
“I’m sorry ma’am, I can’t help you.” He shook his head with an equally bored and annoyed expression.
“Would you please just look at the picture, I-”
“Ma’am.” The clerk was out of patience as he gestured to the man now waiting in line behind her.
Bewildered and discouraged, Mary stepped away from the counter. She stood and stared at the large map of Annesburg that was mounted to the wall next to the ticket window.
Why had she thought it would be so easy? In her mind, the clerk would’ve remembered Arthur right away - a strange man in a company town posting a letter to someplace states away couldn’t be a daily occurrence.
She looked around for somewhere to sit, a quiet corner to gather her thoughts and steady her racing heart. The men crowded in the waiting room regarded her coldly, and she suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable. Seeing no better option, she sat down on the rickety bench underneath the map, and pulled Arthur’s letter out of her pocket to read again.
My dear Mary,
I hope this letter’ll reach you. While I wish you weren’t back at the mill with your Daddy, I’m not sure where else you call home these days.
I should’ve sent this weeks ago, but I weren’t sure what to say. Things have gone to hell, and I have failed in keeping my promise to you so far. For that I’m more sorry than you can know. I hope you’ve already moved on to better prospects, but if you have not, I reckon it’s about time for you to let me go.
I’m not well, and it’s not clear how long I got left, but I am trying to do some good now that I see the world for what it is. I want more than anything to give you all that you deserve. I hope you’ll find a way to have that, in the end.
Oh, Mary, be happy. Please be happy.
Goodbye,
Arthur
The tears that had already begun to wet Mary’s cheeks turned into quiet sobs that carried the tremor from her hand into the paper it held.
Her resolve was starting to disintegrate.
When she had received the letter a few days ago, the initial devastation had shifted quickly to confusion. Each time she re-read what Arthur had written, she was less sure about the finality and intention of his goodbye.
She knew he was trying to do what he believed was the right thing, but she was far from certain about the conviction behind the words he’d managed to write. To admit he wasn’t well when he must’ve known Mary would worry was one thing, sure. The fact that it was the first letter he’d written to her in more than ten years was another. However, those were just the beginning of the questions the letter begged.
The postmark from Annesburg had been clear as day, so she packed up a suitcase and headed to the train station without so much as a goodbye to her father. The days back home with him had started to feel unbearably long with his cruel rages growing harder to predict, and everything around the house and mill was steeped in painful memories. Even her quiet refuge at the mill pond reverberated with joyful times long lost to willful degradation.
Perhaps it had been insane to come all this way on some intuitional hunch after reading a farewell letter too many times. She could’ve just let Arthur do what he thought he was doing - giving her permission to let him go and move on with her life - but by the time Mary had received his letter, it was far too late for that.
Whether it would be to violence, his loyalty to Dutch, or the complications that always shaded what they shared, some part of her always knew that loving Arthur would mean losing him. She had let him slip through her fingers once, but the flame that now burned for him inside her had turned into a conflagration. The time for extinguishing it had long passed, and she’d decided she would rather be charred and blistered by the fire than run from the only thing that seemed to be keeping her warm.
“Miss? Are you alright?”
Mary wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress and looked up to see the man who had been waiting behind her at the window. He was standing next to the bench with a parcel under his arm and peering at her with a pair of startling blue eyes.
“I…I’m sorry, I-I can move along,” she stuttered, embarrassed and still flustered from the exchange with the station clerk. She hastily folded the letter back up and shoved it in her pocket. “I just needed to catch my breath.”
“No, no, I don’t work here at the station.” He had a thick German accent, and his words eased out gently from under a bushy mustache. “You just seem…troubled. Do you need help?”
“I just…well, I just got off the train, and I don’t know why I came. I’m not from here and…” she trailed off, suddenly feeling immensely foolish.
“Do you have some place to stay, Miss…?”
“Mary. And no…I don’t. I don’t know what I was thinking.” It was true. She had set off without any sort of well-reasoned plan and hadn’t even considered what she’d do if she encountered a dead end.
“I happen to have rooms for rent...” The man spoke carefully, clearly aware how a woman traveling alone might take any such offer. “How about we get you settled in so you can figure out what’s next?”
Mary felt an unspooling of tension inside of her. The opportunity to rest and sleep in a real bed might help her think more clearly. If she’d have to turn around and travel back home, at least she’d give herself the time to recover, first.
“You’re so kind, that would be wonderful, Mr.?”
“Schultz.” He smiled widely and offered her a hand.
“Mr. Schultz. Thank you.”
He helped Mary stand then picked up her suitcase before placing a hand on her back to guide her toward the door. They stepped out of the station and back into the acrid air.
Expecting to be led down the walkway to a saloon or boarding house, Mary was surprised when they stopped in front of the gunsmith. Mr. Schultz handed her suitcase back to her as he pulled a key out of his pocket to unlock the door. They stepped inside together, and he walked behind the counter.
“The room is one dollar per night.” He pointed to the service menu displayed at one corner of the large wooden desk. “It’ll be the first door to your right when you enter the building next door. I would also be happy to arrange a bath for you, if that’s something that might help?”
“Not right now, thank you, but I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”
As the gunsmith busied himself with putting Mary’s money in the till and retrieving the room key, her eyes wandered around the store.
It seemed rather oddly decorated for a gun shop. A pair of taxidermied birds were proudly on display in a glass case that also held stacks of shotgun shells for sale, and funny little ornate touches were everywhere. From the intricately patterned - if not a bit grubby, torn, and stained - wallpaper to the many elegant details carved into the wooden cabinets and shelving, it was like a room one might find in an abandoned mansion somewhere. Mary’s knowledge of firearms was limited, but Mr. Schultz appeared to have quite a variety of quality guns and ammunition in stock.
She allowed herself a hopeful thought: if Arthur had been in Annesburg, perhaps he would’ve come in here for supplies or to maintain his weapons. After the experience in the station, she was reluctant to ask after him again, but there was little to lose at that point.
“Mr. Schultz, I don’t want to make a pest of myself when you’ve already been so generous with your time, but…” Mary’s throat felt thick, and the words she was trying to get out failed her.
I reckon it’s about time for you to let me go…
Swallowing and taking a few deep breaths, she tried again.
“I came here looking for someone. Someone important to me.” Emotion welled up in her voice, but she continued on. “He posted a letter to me from Annesburg about a week ago, which is why I left…well…why I came here in the first place.” Tears began to roll down her face again.
I want more than anything to give you all that you deserve…
“Take your time, Miss Mary,” the gunsmith encouraged softly. He handed her an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket.
“I’m sorry, it’s been a long journey.” She dabbed her eyes and drew a few more trembling breaths. The focus on her mission had concealed just how close to the edge she’d been, even before leaving home. Possibly for weeks. “I just…may I show you a picture? In case you’ve seen him?”
I hope you’ll find a way to have that, in the end…
“I’m not always so good with faces, but I’m happy to take a look.”
The sympathy and pity in the kind man’s face was well-intentioned, but Mary’s stomach was turning sour again. She pulled the picture of her and Arthur out of her dress pocket and set it gingerly on the counter for him to examine.
His eyes widened almost immediately in recognition.
“Ah, yes! I know this man! He’s been in many times. Buys ammunition, upgrades to his guns, sometimes enjoys a bath and a stay in one of my rooms.”
“Really?!” Her heartbeat stuttered in excitement. Maybe it hadn’t been so insane to come here, after all. “When did you see him last? Do you know where he’s staying?!”
“I’m…sorry Miss Mary, I haven’t seen him in almost a week.” He shook his head as he looked up from the picture. “He hasn’t been back since we had some…trouble here in town.”
Things have gone to hell…
Mary’s legs felt like rubber, and her suitcase clattered to the floor. The gunsmith started around the counter to help, but she held up a hand and tried to quickly steady herself.
“No, no, I’m…I’ll be fine. I think it’s best if I retire to my room now. I appreciate all your help, Mr. Schultz, truly.”
She carefully placed the photograph back in her pocket, picked up the room key and her suitcase, and walked the short distance to the next building with shaky and uncertain steps. The front of the dwelling was crowded with crates and pallets, and the white stucco on the exterior walls - once intended to elevate its appearance - was just another grimy, stained testament to the hostility of the place. The soft yellow light shining from the windows was inviting, at least, and by that point, Mary didn’t care about the state of the room as long as it had a bed.
Unlocking and stepping into the guest quarters, she set down her suitcase, which had begun to feel like it was filled with lead in her wobbly arms. The room was larger than she anticipated, and the mattress on the simple brass bedframe that was pushed into the back corner looked comfortable enough. There was a decently-sized dresser at the foot of the bed, a trunk in the opposite corner, and even a full-length mirror next to the small wash stand. Though it was all as tired and ragged as everything else she'd come across since her arrival, it would be an adequate place to rest for the night, and figuring out what would be next could wait until tomorrow.
Pressing the door closed with her back, Mary slid to the floor and buried her face in her hands. Despite the lingering echoes of Arthur’s presence in Annesburg, he felt further away from her than ever.