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It’s out of habit that he puts on his cleanest shirt and vest, attempts to do something with his hair, and even rinses his mouth out with some of that god-awful tooth powder. Things between them might’ve ended a long time ago, but he still feels a little ashamed of turning up on Mary’s doorstep looking like he’s fresh out of a corral on branding day. Though, he thinks with a grimace as he heads down the stairs, he’s not sure why he’s bothering – compared to Molly’s state, he’ll look positively genteel. Come to think of it, he probably should have asked her to lay off the booze when he’d invited her to-
He pauses, blinking at the empty corner in the front parlour. Molly had claimed the spot not long after they moved into Shady Belle – making it clear to everyone but herself that what was between her and Dutch was officially over. But she’s not there now, curled up in a miserable ball like usual; nor is she on the back porch. Arthur pats Cain absentmindedly as he scans his gaze across the field and graveyard behind the house, chewing his lip. Molly had seemed all right after their little talk the night before, and had agreed to come with him into town readily enough. Lord, he hopes she didn’t do something stupid like run off into the swamps after all...
Stepping around the side of the house, he doesn’t see her on either of the jetties, nor is she on the front porch or by the campfire. He’s getting increasingly concerned as he ducks his head into the little gazebo out front, when there’s a call from over by the horses.
“There you are! Was going to come up there and wake you myself if you didn’t turn up soon!”
Arthur blinks in confusion. There’s Molly O’Shea, standing by his new appaloosa – who’s already tacked up, saddle and everything.
“You’re up early, Miss O’Shea!” he calls lowly as he approaches. And it’s true – no one else is up yet, the sun only having just broken the horizon.
“Ach, I told ya, call me Molly,” she admonishes as she pats the mare’s neck. “And of course I am! I remember hearing stories about St Denis when I was a little girl – always fancied seeing it for myself some day.”
Arthur can’t help but chuckle a little in surprise, taking in her appearance. Despite the early hour, she’s bright and fresh faced – clean clothes, makeup, nice hairdo and everything. Seems that overnight, she’s transformed from a drunken, heart-broken wretch into the young Irish aristocrat Dutch introduced her as nearly a year go.
It’s amazing what a little kindness can do for some people.
“So I can see,” he smiles, “and you’ve already tacked up for me. Did, uh, someone help you with the saddle..?”
“Pfft, no – I’m stronger than I look, Arthur Morgan,” Molly declares, hands on hips. “And there’s no need for that,” she adds when Arthur checks the cinch, “I had my own horse from the age of three until I came to America. Would brush them and saddle them up and everything. I even packed us breakfast!”
“Well, all right then,” Arthur grins, mounting up and offering her a hand. “If you’re ready, let’s go.”
“So, what are you calling this one?” Molly asks as she settles behind him. “Another fancy name from the old myths? How about... Ariadne, since she helped you vanquish a monster? That Anthony Foreman sounds lower than scum.”
“You heard about that, huh? And naw, this one’s already got a name.”
“Oh?”
“Dotty.”
“Dotty?!” Molly laughs. She’s got a pretty laugh – once again, Arthur thinks Dutch has done the wrong thing by her.
“Well, it fits!” Arthur protests as he urges Dotty through the crumbling old gateway. “’Sides, I let Jack name her. Figured it might help – y’know, make him feel a bit more at home again.”
“That’s kind of you. He’s a sweet boy – this life must be hard on him.”
“Yeah,” Arthur murmurs regretfully. “But, he’s a brave kid. Seems to just, y’know, adapt to things.”
“Mm. Better than I’ve ever managed,” Molly mutters under her breath. Arthur frowns, but doesn’t comment on it.
“You gonna be all right if we go at a canter for a bit?” he asks instead. “I’ll take the roads – not too sure how well this one will put up with the ‘gators if we take the shortcut through the swamps,” he explains, patting Dotty’s neck. He’s not too sure Molly would like it either.
“I told ya, I know how to ride just fine! Please, let’s just get going.”
Sure enough, she keeps her seat with only a light grip on his waist, and seems to know to let her body move with Dotty’s gait instead of rigidly bouncing around on her rump – she even manages to retrieve a breakfast of bread rolls and apples from his saddlebags and pass them to him. He feels a little guilty now for not offering to tack up a horse for her to ride solo. Funny, Dutch never asked him about finding her a horse like he has in the past with folks joining the gang without a horse of their own...
“So, if you know how to ride, how come you ain’t just headed on over to see St Denis yourself? You coulda borrowed one of the horses – I’m sure we’d’ve found you a side-saddle, if that’s what you prefer.”
“...Dutch doesn’t like me leaving camp without him,” Molly says quietly, tone bitter. “Always said that America is full of conmen and swindlers who’d take advantage of a ‘fine lady’ like me. And, hmph – guess he was right. He always comes up with some excuse, and the girls stopped taking me robbing with them and... I suppose... I just gave up asking...”
Arthur presses his lips together, not missing the way her hands have clenched into fists on his vest, and says nothing.
They take the road past Caliga Hall – Arthur keeps Dotty to the far right and pulls his hat down low, casting wary glances at the ashen remains of the tobacco fields. But the few travellers out and about pay them no mind, and Molly’s mood seems to lift when St Denis comes into view through the trees.
“Ah, smell that?!” she exclaims, inhaling deeply.
“What, the smokestacks?” Arthur asks dubiously. “’Stink somethin’ awful.”
“That’s the smell of civilisation, Arthur,” Molly says happily. “The smell of hot baths, clean sheets, and proper coffee!”
“Pfft, if you say so,” Arthur mumbles, deciding he’d best keep his feelings on ‘civilisation’ to himself. “Speakin’ of which – this, uh, friend of mine is stayin’ at the Hotel Grand. Don’t know it, but I imagine it’s a nice place. You’re welcome to join us, ‘course, but if you want, I can drop you off there and you can have all the hot baths and coffee you like.”
“Is this ‘friend’ the fabled Mary I’ve heard so much about?”
“Have you now?” Arthur grumbles. Molly laughs again.
“Folk might not talk to me much, but I’m not deaf, Arthur. I’ve heard all about it – that letter you got has been quite the topic of discussion the past couple of days.”
“I’m sure it has,” Arthur says ruefully, slowing Dotty to a trot as they cross a bridge and enter the city proper.
“And, errm... Does... Charles know we’re going to see...?”
“Charles knows about Mary, and Mary knows about Charles,” Arthur shrugs.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it might’ve... come up in conversation, last time I saw her.” Or rather, that evening on the Valentine train platform, Mary had read him like a book like she always does, and gently asked him if he’d finally found someone else. Her smile seemed genuine when, after a moment’s hesitation, he bashfully nodded. And when she’d asked what her name was, and he’d mumbled ‘his name is Charles’, she’d laughed in delight.
“And she’s... all right, with... that sort of thing?”
“Sure. Heh, she better be, number of times I caught her starin’ at other girls even when we was courtin’!”
“...Oh...” Molly says again quietly.
“You ain’t got a problem with ‘that sort of thing’ have you, Miss O’Shea?” Arthur asks, a little harshly. She’d sure as hell seemed surprised when she’d stumbled across him and Charles – but, Arthur hadn’t noticed any disgust at the time. But what if-
“No! No, I’m- no. Not at all.”
That seems to be the end of it, with Molly’s attention quickly being drawn to the ‘delights’ of civilisation as they ride down the broad avenues of the nicer part of town, exclaiming about posters for art galleries and picture shows and advertisements for the newest fashions.
“Enjoying yourself?” Arthur asks, bemused. Christ, he doesn’t remember if he’s ever seen her so chatty.
“Hah, are you joking?! ‘Course I am! It’s so...” She gives a giddy laugh behind him. “Oh, it’s like I was starting to forget that there’s a whole other world outside of the camp – so many things, and people, and life! It’s... It really means a lot to me,” she says warmly, hands squeezing lightly on his waist. “Thank you, Arthur, I mean it.”
“No problem at all,” Arthur mumbles, feeling guilty once more. He hadn’t even noticed, but now he thinks on it – Molly doesn’t go out robbing or sniffing out leads with the other girls, doesn’t even ride into town to go to the store. And if she ain’t robbing, ain’t like she’s going to have any money of her own to spend anyway, besides whatever Dutch might give her. Like the others, he assumed she just felt she was above such things, like she seems to with the chores. But if Dutch has purposefully been keeping her in camp this whole time...
“Oh, there! Hotel Grand, down that way,” Molly points. Sure enough, there’s a sign pointing down the next street.
“All right – I’ll see what Mary wants. Like I said, you’re welcome to join us, but, could be a while. If you want me to drop you off somewhere first, like the shopping district, we can-”
“No, I want to see the famous Mary,” Molly says teasingly.
“Pfft, very well then.”
Secretly, he’s glad. Partly because he suspects that Dutch hasn’t given her so much as a dime lately, and he doesn’t want to insult her pride by trying to give her some of his own money so she’s got something to spend. But mostly because, after their conversation when she’d walked in on him and Charles, and especially after their conversation during the ride into town...
He’s no good with feelings – hell, he can barely make sense of his own, let alone other people’s. But he figures what Molly O’Shea might need, more than anything, is a friend.
He steers them down the street, dodging riders and carts and people, so many people, who all seem determined to get trampled under Dotty’s hooves with the way they just step out right in front of him. Already, his skin’s crawling – cities like this make him feel damn near claustrophobic. Seems like he’s the only one suffering though – Dotty, placid thing she is, is taking the city in her stride, not even baulking at a passing trolley car. And Molly seems positively ecstatic – he can feel her shifting behind him as she keeps twisting and turning, trying to take it all in, and when he glances over his shoulder, her face is lit up in a way he hasn’t seen in... a real long time.
The guilty feeling grows. Much as he dislikes being little more than a damn errand boy lately, he’s always held a soft spot for the girls; figures the life the gang lives ain’t easy, especially for the women, who could all stand to do much better than taking care of a bunch of rough men and degenerates. So he’s always made a point to look out for them – fetching them things when asked, picking up little trinkets he thinks they might like, trying to make sure they’re all right. But, he realises he’s never extended that care to Molly in all the time he’s known her, besides fetching her a pocket mirror when she asked – mostly because he figured Dutch was looking after her. But if he’d-
“Arthur! Arthur, up here!”
They both look up, squinting against the midday sun at the figure waving from a balcony above them.
“You came!” Mary calls.
“Yeah, I came,” Arthur calls back, matching her grin. “And I uh, brought a friend, if that’s all right.”
“Of course! Wait there, I’m coming straight down!”
“She certainly sounds happy to see you,” Molly observes as Mary disappears from view.
“She said she needed help – must be real bad, if she’s askin’ me,” Arthur mumbles as he dismounts. Molly hums noncommittally as he helps her down, but doesn’t say anything further. It’s not long until Mary comes running out of the hotel doors, still smiling wide.
“Arthur!” she exclaims again, a little breathlessly. “You came.”
“Sure. Whenever you call for me, I come, that ain’t changed.”
Mary meets his eyes for a long moment – she looks relieved, as well as some other emotion he can’t quite figure out. But then she seems to remember herself, turning to Molly.
“And, I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced...”
“Uh, right – Mrs. Mary Linton, this is Miss Molly O’Shea,” Arthur says. “She’s, uh-”
“A friend,” Molly interjects with a smile. “I needed a ride into town, Arthur was kind enough to offer. But, he said you needed help...?”
“Oh, no, you don’t need to-” Mary flushes a little. “I’m sorry, there’s really no need for you to get caught up in my mess too, Miss O’Shea-”
“I’d like to help, if I can.”
“Uh- Well... it’s just, my... family, has some, ah, troubles...”
“Heh, what family doesn’t?” Molly says, not unkindly. “Anything I can do?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong?” Arthur asks. Shit, he hopes Jamie isn’t in trouble again. Mary’s letter said the boy was going back to college, but he sure as hell wouldn’t be surprised if a few months stuck under James Gillis’ roof had turned the kid back to that crazy cult-
“It’s Daddy,” Mary says softly.
Any feelings of concern abruptly turn to disbelief.
“Your father?!” he exclaims, not caring as a few heads turn their way at the shout – he’s too irritated. Partly with Mary, mostly with himself. “Pfft, I’m a bigger fool than I even thought...”
“Arthur!” Molly says sharply as he starts to walk away.
“What?” he snaps, turning – then immediately taking a half a step back on instinct.
He’s never asked, but he’s always assumed Molly is a good few years younger than him. But Lord, she’s doing such a good impression of Susan Grimshaw, hands on hips and fierce scowl on her face, that he almost expects her to pull a wooden spoon from somewhere.
“I don’t think much of the rest of ‘em,” she scolds, jabbing a thumb back the way they came, “but I thought you were one of the few who’d learned some basic manners! The girl’s asking you for help – at least hear her out!”
Before Arthur can splutter out a bewildered reply, she turns back to Mary, expression softening.
“What’s the matter?” she asks. Mary flushes further, gaze dropping to the ground.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, “I’m ashamed to have asked. But... my father, is... He was a very successful businessman, but, ever since my mother passed, he’s struggled with... certain vices...”
“Gambling, girls, or grog?” Molly asks knowingly.
“All of the above,” Arthur supplies, which just earns him a glare from the both of them – though Mary has the decency to look contrite.
“And he’s... getting worse,” she admits. “Jamie’s inheritance from my mother is safe, at least – it’s being held by his college. But, the money Barry – my late husband – left me is near run out, and Daddy’s drinking and gambling more than ever, pawning things off left and right, mixing with bad people... Oh, I’m sorry Miss O’Shea,” she cuts herself off with an embarrassed laugh. “You don’t need to be hearing a total stranger’s list of misfortunes!”
“It’s fine,” Molly says, reaching out to give her arm a squeeze. “Really. I... understand, a least a little. So, what do you need our help with?”
Arthur and Mary glance at each other at ‘our’.
“I’m just scared for him,” Mary sighs. “And, the past few days, he keeps disappearing; it seems like he’s... up to something, I’m not entirely sure what, and I’m afraid to find out. I thought Arthur and his...” she pauses, looking uncertainly between them, “...associates might be nearby-”
“Ach, you can drop the act – I know all about the ‘associates’. Technically speaking, I’m one of ‘em,” Molly huffs.
“Oh!” Mary, to her credit, covers up her surprise pretty damn quick. “Well, then you know about ‘Tacitus Kilgore’ – I left a letter at the post office hoping it might reach Arthur, since...”
“Since I’m the best guy you know at frightenin’ people,” Arthur concludes tiredly.
“I’m sorry,” Mary says, sounding so miserable he instantly regrets it. “I should have asked someone else-”
“None of that!” Molly says firmly, placing her hands on Mary’s shoulders, ducking her head to try to meet Mary’s downcast gaze. “We’ll help you out – won’t we, Arthur?”
Arthur knows he can’t refuse – because, while things might be over between them, Mary’s still one of his oldest friends, one of the few people he can be himself around, and he doesn’t want to leave her in a bad situation; he doesn’t think he could say no to her even if he wanted to.
And because Molly’s glare promises there’ll be hell to pay if he does.
“Come along then,” he sighs, stepping over to unhitch Dotty. “Where can we find the old lovable patriarch?”
Both women beam at him.
“Thank you,” Mary says sincerely. “He said he was going down to the Theodore Eckhart stables – something about a horse. It’s down by the water in the warehouse district, near the train yard.”
“Yeah, I know it. It, uh, ain’t exactly the nicest part of town – you sure you don’t wanna wait at the hotel, Molly?”
“’Course not! I told you, I want to see the city – what could be a better way to explore than to go on a manhunt, eh? It’ll be fun!”
Arthur laughs in disbelief. And to think, this was the same woman who was about to run off into the alligator-filled swamps only the night before...
“You got a strange definition of fun, Miss O’Shea. But all right – let’s get goin’.”
Sturdy as Dotty is, she can’t carry three grown adults. So, once he’s hailed a rickshaw cab for the ladies, he mounts up and leads the way, winding a route through the streets towards the chimneys of the warehouse district, belching out thick black clouds of ‘civilisation’. How anyone can like the smell is beyond him – but Molly seems to be having a grand old time, chatting away to Mary and gazing about like she really is witnessing a wonder of the world. In fact, the two of them quickly seem to get along like a house on fire, whispering and giggling to each other behind the cab driver. When he glances over his shoulder at a particularly loud burst of laughter, he finds they’re both looking at him.
“What’re you two cacklin’ about back there?” he calls.
“Nothing!” they chorus, which makes them fall into another fit of giggles. Arthur shakes his head, deciding he doesn’t want to know.
Still – he was hoping they’d get along, and it’s nice to see them both laughing again. Even if he suspects it’s at his own expense.
The familiar smell of horses, straw and manure is a welcome respite from the general stink of the streets in the industrial quarter of the city – he’d almost be relieved, if he didn’t think Mr. Gillis was around here somewhere. He hitches Dotty and helps the ladies down from the cab, and Mary looks apprehensive as she eyes up the stable doors.
“This is the place,” she sighs. “Let me go in and... see what kind of a state he’s in.”
“Sure,” Arthur agrees reluctantly. “We’ll wait here. Scream if you need any help.”
“Very funny,” Mary drawls, rolling her eyes before she slips inside.
“Well, this is definitely one way to tour a city, Miss O’Shea,” Arthur muses as they stand back to wait. “I’m sorry, this weren’t what I was expectin’ when I asked you to come with-”
“You can’t stand there,” says a voice with a thick Irish accent.
They both turn in surprise to see a stablehand, no older than Lenny, giving them a surly look.
“What, in the street?” Arthur scoffs.
“Yes, ‘in the street’,” mocks the kid, before going back to his sweeping.
Arthur breathes in and out once through his nose, mindful of Molly beside him.
“Is it your street?” he asks, polite as he can manage.
“Just get outta here!” snaps the stablehand.
Arthur takes another slow breath, nails digging into the leather of his gunbelt.
“Why?”
The kid straightens with a scowl.
“I said, just get outta here!” he says louder, storming over, and Arthur’s got a mind to snatch the stupid broom and teach the brat a lesson-
Then Molly barks something at the kid in a language that Arthur doesn’t understand, and the boy halts instantly. He stammers something back, and Molly replies curtly, jabbing his chest with a finger. Arthur’s not got a clue what she’s saying, but it sure reminds him of Susan putting the fear of God into John back when the little idiot went through a spell of refusing to bathe. Eventually, the kid mumbles something sheepishly and hurries off.
“The hell was that?!” Arthur exclaims.
“I just reminded him about the manners his mother taught him,” Molly shrugs.
“Yeah but I mean, what were you speakin’?”
“Irish. Or, Gaelic, you’d call it.”
“Shit, Molly, I didn’t know you spoke another language!”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” she says primly. “And as for what you were saying before – I don’t mind, really. Mary told me a bit more about her... situation, on the way. Poor girl needs all the help she can get.”
“Hmph, well, knowin’ her father, I’m inclined to agree – but I’m sure she could’ve asked someone else...”
“Pah, of course she could! She’s got a string of fine gentlemen practically queuing up to help.”
“Wh- she does? Then why the hell’d she ask me?!”
For some reason, this makes Molly give him a cross look.
“I didn’t take you for a fool, Arthur Morgan, no matter what Dutch says,” she says archly, folding her arms. When he gives her a baffled look, she rolls her eyes. “Think about it! A woman like her? Beautiful, widowed, still young, and well-off? Or... young enough, and seemingly well-off? You don’t know what it’s like, in that situation. It’s... when you’re a woman, it’s difficult to- Ach, Arthur, don’t you understand?” she asks, expression grim. “You’re about the only man she can ask for help who won’t expect something from her in return!”
That makes Arthur pause, dropping his gaze to the filthy street.
He didn’t realise Mary probably needs more friends, too.
“I, uh... hadn’t thought of it like that,” he mumbles. But then he frowns. “But, is that what you two were laughin’ about on the way here?”
“Hah, no,” Molly smirks. “She was very keen to hear everything I knew about Charles. Wanted to make sure he was ‘a nice man who’d treat you right’.”
Her grin widens as he splutters, feeling his cheeks starting to burn. But before he can get out some protest along the lines of ‘I am a thirty-six year old man. I have five thousand on my head!’, there’s a commotion from inside the stables. He quickly puts a hand on Molly’s waist and turns them both down the street, just as the stable door bursts open behind them.
“-I have half a mind to kill you myself!” bellows an all too familiar voice.
“Daddy!” Mary protests.
“No!”
Arthur grits his teeth. He can smell the booze on the man from here.
“Oh Daddy, please, come home! Y-you’re tired, Daddy, tired and unwell-”
“I am no such thing!” Mr. Gillis growls. “You get away from me, you head home – I insist upon it! Leave me be!”
His footsteps fade behind them, but not before he calls his daughter a ‘damn nuisance’.
Molly looks appalled.
“Still as charming as ever, I see,” Arthur says dryly as Mary hurries over to them.
“Oh, Arthur, he’s up to no good!” she exclaims, wringing her hands. “We better follow him!” She makes to go after her slimeball of a father, then pauses.
“But- I’m sorry you saw that, Miss O’Shea, you don’t have to waste your time with-”
“Nonsense!” Molly says, striding past them both. “Now come on, quick – or we’ll lose him!”
Mary and Arthur share another glance before Mary hurries after her.
“...Okay,” Arthur shrugs, following.
Sure enough, as he rounds the corner into an even-filthier alleyway, Mr. Gillis stumbles out of sight at the other end. Molly waves at them to catch up, apparently not caring about her skirts getting covered in muck. The three of them follow carefully, rounding the corner into a square of sorts behind the back of several warehouses.
“Hold on,” Mary cautions as Mr. Gillis slows. Arthur glances about, looking for cover to duck behind – only for the old man to bend double with a groan and retch.
“You can see why he has such a high opinion of himself,” Arthur mutters as Mr. Gillis empties his stomach into the existing muck. Molly makes a face, but Mary just sighs. Once the man staggers upright and continues on his way, they carefully follow.
“We’ll just follow the smell,” Arthur grumbles.
“Arthur, come on,” Mary chides. “But, uh, do watch your step, Miss O’Shea,” she adds to Molly, who once again has taken the lead. “I’m so sorry, your hem-”
“Ach, don’t worry about it,” Molly dismisses as she carefully steps around the new puddle. “At least I don’t need to worry about stepping on an alligator!”
“Huh?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Arthur mutters as they hurry to catch up to her as she ducks between some crates. On the upside, all the mud and filth makes it easy to see Mr. Gillis’ fresh footprints continuing down between the crates and a warehouse, before making a sharp left down another alleyway. Molly, still ahead, makes to follow, when there’s a yell from the other end of the alley.
“Come here, quick!” Mary hisses, grabbing Molly’s arm and yanking her back behind the cover of the warehouse wall.
“Mind where you go!” Mr. Gillis’ irate voice echoes down the alleyway.
“I’m sorry?” asks a stranger’s voice, and Arthur relaxes, figuring they haven’t been caught. He turns to tell the ladies as such – and pauses.
The momentum of Mary pulling Molly to safety seems to have made them both stumble – Mary’s pressed back against the warehouse, and Molly has thrown both hands onto the wall either side of her to steady herself. But now they’re standing frozen like that, faces only inches apart, staring at each other with wide eyes.
Arthur glances between the two of them as another beat passes and neither of them move. And... an inkling starts to form in the back of his brain.
“Do you think he saw you?” he asks lightly. That seems to snap them out of it, and Molly takes a quick step back, the both of them looking away and smoothing their skirts.
“I don’t think so...” Mary replies, peering around the corner. Arthur joins her, seeing that the alleyway ends on another street leading towards the station, where Mr. Gillis is still arguing with a passer-by.
“What did you say to me?!” he snarls.
“I didn’t say anything insulting,” says the other man, sounding bemused. This only seems to enrage Mr. Gillis further.
“I’ll wipe that goddamn smirk clean off your face!”
“Heh, ain’t you a little old for brawling, mister?” chuckles the stranger before turning and walking away.
“Damn you!” Mr. Gillis shouts after him. Though, seems nothing has changed in the years since Arthur last saw the man, since he doesn’t follow up on his threat – just stumbles across the street, muttering to himself.
“Shall we?” Arthur asks, taking the lead. The ladies nod, following.
He makes no comment on the fact that both of them are still blushing a little.
“You know, this is kinda fun!” he says as they near the street.
“Shh! He’ll hear you!” Mary scolds. Arthur shrugs – he reckons if Gillis is too drunk notice three people following him in broad daylight by now, they ain’t got much to worry about.
“I like your jacket, Miss O’Shea,” Mary comments in a lower voice. “The colours are beautiful.”
“Oh, thank you!”
“Don’t reckon I’ve seen you in that one for a while, Molly,” Arthur remarks as they pause to let a cart go past before crossing the street themselves. “I thought you’d left it behind near Valentine.”
“Never,” Molly declares. “It’s my favourite! Just, well... Dutch didn’t like it.”
Both he and Mary pause at how small her voice suddenly sounds, glancing back at her.
“Dutch? But he likes... finery,” Arthur says, puzzled. The jacket in question certainly looks fine – blue and green stripes, lace, big shiny buttons that Arthur wouldn’t think twice about trying to steal back in the day – it probably cost a small fortune.
“He likes finery on him,” Molly mutters dourly. “Said my clothes were ‘too loud’ for his tastes.”
“Pfft, well if that man still talks as much as he used to, then he’s a hypocrite,” Mary scoffs as they carry on down the opposite street. “I think you look lovely.”
Arthur doesn’t miss the look of surprise on Molly’s face, that quickly melts into gratitude and... something else.
That inkling grows a little more.
“He just went left, down that alleyway.” Mary points to a spot further along the street. “What’s he doing?”
“Let’s go find out,” Arthur says grimly, quickening his pace. Peering past some wool bales, he sees Gillis stumbling on ahead before rounding the building to their right.
“Can’t say I don’t show you ladies a good time,” he mutters as they follow.
“I’m just glad you’re here – both of you,” Mary replies softly.
Gesturing for them to keep their voices down, he approaches the end of they alleyway, pressing himself to the wall so he can peer around the corner. Gillis has come to a stop outside a doorway, fumbling something out of his pocket before clutching it close and looking around nervously.
“What’s he doing? What do you think he’s doing?” Mary whispers apprehensively as she peers past him, and Molly past her.
“Well, he’s either waiting for a woman of dubious morals, or, he’s trying to sell something...” Arthur murmurs.
“So, Ashton, you got the money?” Mr. Gillis says as a well-dressed man steps out from the door.
“Selling something it is,” Molly whispers. They watch the exchange – seems Mr. Gillis is pawning off some family heirloom this time. Arthur instantly dislikes ‘Ashton’, who takes the chance to gloat over his purchase.
“That was Mother’s brooch!” Mary hisses. Arthur glances at her, but turns back to watch as Gillis and Ashton continue to talk finances. Seems Ashton is also in the business of moneylending.
“No, thank you,” Mr. Gillis sneers. “I’ve heard what happens to folks who take loans from you.”
Arthur glances away, jaw clenching. He makes a note to himself to tell Strauss not to offer a loan to anyone called ‘Gillis’ – much as he has fantasised about punching Mr. Gillis in the face, the thought of Strauss preying on Mary and her family makes him a little sick to the stomach.
“It’s not even his to sell!”
His thoughts have distracted him from the growing agitation on Mary’s face.
“It’s just a brooch!” he tries reason. “At least he didn’t get himself killed!” Or beaten up by some big evil brute tasked with collecting Ashton’s debts...
“You don’t understand! Mother left it to me!”
Both he and Molly make a grab for her – but they’re too slow.
“You sold my mother’s brooch?!” Mary demands shrilly, storming out from their hiding place. “How could you?!”
“You!” Mr. Gillis exclaims, sounding none too pleased.
Arthur sighs and follows her, Molly on his heels.
“That’s theft!” Mary snaps accusingly. Mr. Gillis looks a little stunned – until he catches sight of him and Molly.
“Oh, speaking of thieves, I see you’ve found your outlaw again!” he jeers. “And who’s this, his latest harlot?”
“Charmed!” Molly tuts, putting her hands on her hips.
“Hello, sir, have you been well?” Arthur says with mock cheerfulness, striding past them to where Ashton disappeared around another corner.
“Daddy, how could you?!” Mary cries again.
“Mary, wait here, I’ll go get the brooch,” Arthur mutters – he figures the damn thing must be real special, if it’s enough to make her stand up to her father like that.
“Don’t hurt anyone, Arthur!” Mary calls after him. Arthur waves dismissively, hurrying through another courtyard when he realises Ashton is out of sight. But he still hears Mr. Gillis’ sneer,
“He’ll probably kill someone! Oh, but you like that, don’t you, Mary?”
Arthur rolls his eyes and breaks into a run, hoping he doesn’t have to prove the man right.
Brooch in hand and a hundred dollars worse off for it, Arthur hurries back through the streets. He’d considered persuading Ashton to lower his price – but he didn’t want to give Mary’s father the satisfaction of seeing him come back with blood on his knuckles, nor waste the time. He’s very aware that he’s left both Mary and Molly with the awful man; Mary always swore her father would never lay a finger on her, but his ranting outside the stables makes Arthur seriously wonder if that’s still true. And as for Molly – Gillis probably won’t have any qualms with giving her a beating, purely thanks to her association with Arthur. Christ, he hopes Gillis hasn’t hurt either of them, or worse, gotten the law involved – Mary’s well practiced in covering her tracks from their time together, but if Molly’s asked any more detailed questions about what she’s doing, where she’s staying and who she’s with, he hasn’t got a clue what she’d be able to say. Shit, shit, shit, he never should have left them alone over a stupid brooch-
When he hears raised voices coming from the alleyway, he breaks into a sprint. Ignoring the exclamations of passers by, he dodges them and runs through the dank, muddy alley, hurtling around the corner with both hands ready to draw if that old scumbag has so much as-
He skids to a halt, arms going slack at his sides as he takes in the situation.
Pretty soon his jaw goes slack too as he blinks in disbelief.
The thing is, he knows Mary was raised to be a high-society woman – to be genteel and polite, to act like ‘A Lady’ and follow the rules, not matter what shitstorm she found herself in. And, despite the all the pretty dreams they’d shared together all those years ago, he’s realised for some time now that she’d never quite managed to escape those expectations placed on her. And as far as Arthur knows, Molly was raised that way too – but she did leave the rules and expectations behind. She left it all behind for Dutch, and has been living rough with a band of outlaws for the past year, only for Dutch to have gone and scorned her...
She appears to have learned a lot from the experience.
Mary’s never been able to stand up to her father, not in the way Arthur wishes she could. Much as he knows she’s got a rebellious streak, there were always some lines she didn’t dare cross (though, she’s accused him of the same with Dutch, more than once).
Molly, it seems, has no such qualms.
“How dare you!” Mr. Gillis is spluttering. “I am her father-!”
“How dare YOU!” Molly roars, with such ferocity that the man actually stumbles back a few steps. “Oh, I’ve heard all about it! You give your daughter’s hand to the first rich fella who asks, then take all her money when she’s made a widow! What’s next – you gonna marry her off to the next highest bidder?! We got a word, for men like you, and it ain’t FATHER!”
“The hell is goin’ on?” Arthur asks quietly as he sidles up beside Mary.
“Miss O’Shea has been shouting at him for the past... twenty minutes,” she breathes. “It’s... incredible...”
Arthur chuckles, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall to watch.
He has dreamed, for a decade and a half, of punching Mr. James B. Gillis in the teeth.
This is so much better.
“-my children consorting with degenerates like-”
“DEGENERATES?! Oh I know all about degenerates, and I’m looking right at one! You got some bloody nerve, acting all high and mighty, when YOU’RE the one stealing from your own children, you thrice-damned hypocrite! Shame on you!”
Arthur and Mary look on – he in delight, she in awe – as Molly continues to give Mr. Gillis the verbal thrashing of the century (“I will not have my daughter disgrace my family’s good-” “The only disgrace in your family is you, you pathetic drunken pig!”). Arthur is doing his very best not to laugh – but hell if this isn’t the greatest thing he’s ever seen.
When he feels something brush against his arm, he looks down to see Mary has reached a trembling hand out. So he obliges, giving her his hand to hold – she grips it tightly, not taking her eyes off the scene.
“Arthur,” she says, voice strange, and only just loud enough to be heard over the continued scolding (“YOU CALL YOURSELF A GENTLEMAN?! I’VE KNOWN DOGS WITH A GREATER SENSE OF DECENCY THAN YOU, YOU SANCTIMONIOUS ASS!”).
“Hm?”
“You know, I really did love you. And I still care for you. And I will always cherish our time together.”
“Okay...?” he says, eyeing her curiously.
“So, I’m going to say something, and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”
“Shoot.”
“I think... I think I may have just fallen a bit in love,” she says breathlessly. Arthur chuckles, releasing her hand so he can give her a squeeze around the shoulders.
“Yeah, I thought you might like her.”
Mr. Gillis’ face might be blotched red with rage and drink, but his rage is nothing compared to Molly’s; he’s literally backed into a wall in the face of her onslaught, eyes wide. Arthur suspects she might be unleashing her own anger and frustrations as well as those on Mary’s behalf, which is fine by him – he could watch this all day.
Unfortunately, two figures come around the corner.
“Well, well, well, who do we have here?”
Arthur immediately lets go of Mary and steps in front of her, hands drifting back towards his holsters. But the pair of lawmen decked out in St Denis blue pay them no mind, instead advancing toward the other two.
“I thought I recognised that voice,” says the taller one. “Hello again, Mr. Gillis. Officer Hall at your service, Miss, and this is Officer Flynn,” he adds, giving Molly a nod. “Is this gentleman bothering you?”
“Oh, bothering doesn’t begin to cover it, Officer,” Molly huffs. But the break from her scolding seems to have given Mr. Gillis a chance to collect himself, and he straightens, glowering at them.
“Pah, leave us be and go do your jobs, this is a private matter,” he spits. Officer Flynn raises a brow, but Hall just chuckles.
“Oh, but we are doing our jobs, Mr. Gillis. We had a report of an old man threatening to start a brawl not half an hour ago, and just now we’ve had a report of another commotion; and sure enough, I find you, disturbing the peace once again.”
“I told you, this is a private matter. Good day to you, Officers,” Mr. Gillis sneers.
“Now, now, Mr. Gillis, I know I told you last we met that you were on your final warning. How about we go discuss this at the station-”
“No thank you, gentlemen; now if you’ll excuse me, I will be taking my daughter away from this- this- harpy and back to some respectable company!” Mr. Gillis snaps, brandishing a finger at Molly.
“Now I’m sure that kind of language is uncalled for, Mr. Gillis.”
“I should say so!” Molly shrills. “Oh, you should have heard the things he said, Officer – the things he called me, the things he said he was going to do to me, and Mary – his own daughter!”
“Don’t worry, Miss – unfortunately, I am very familiar with Mr. Gillis’ behaviour. Come along, Sir,” says Officer Hall, reaching out to take Gillis’ elbow. But the old man shakes him off, outraged.
“You get your hands off of me, you jumped-up civil servant!” he snaps. “I shall be going nowhere with you!”
“I’m afraid you misunderstand, Mr. Gillis,” says Hall, friendly demeanour dropping. “You’re under arrest.”
“Excuse me?!” Mr. Gillis blusters, drawing himself, face flushing even more – he’s damn near gone purple. “How dare you?! Arrest a man of my standing- Why, you pathetic excuses for men of the law! Arthur Morgan himself is right in front of you, and you try to arrest me?!”
Arthur and Mary freeze for half a second when Mr. Gillis brandishes an accusing finger their way, but Molly barks out a laugh.
“Sure, Duncan is really a famous outlaw,” she ridicules, gesturing at Arthur and rolling her eyes, “and I’m really the Queen of England! God in Heaven, man, just how much have you had to drink?!”
“Quite enough, I’m sure,” Officer Hall says wryly over Mr. Gillis’ furious protests as he and Officer Flynn wrestle him into cuffs. “But I am very sorry you had to witness this, ladies,” he adds as Flynn leads Mr. Gillis away (none too gently, Arthur notes with great satisfaction). “And, Mrs. Linton, might I suggest you and your brother hire a lawyer to discuss the matter of Power of Attorney, like we talked about last time? I can recommend a good one – he’s a very kindly fellow, got four daughters himself, and I know he’s, ah, made arrangements in cases like yours several times.”
“We will. Thank you, Officer,” Mary says demurely.
“My pleasure, ma’am. And, Mr. Duncan, was it? I trust you can escort these fine ladies home?”
Shit.
“Aye,” Arthur says gruffly, praying to any god that’ll listen that he doesn’t have to say anything else.
“Very well. Good day to you ladies, Sir.”
He tips his hat and then follows his colleague. The three of them stand there until his cheerful whistling, and Mr. Gillis’ furious bellows, have faded into the distance. Eventually, Mary seems to shake herself out of her shock, turning to Molly with wide eyes.
“Miss O’Shea, that- that was-”
“Ach, I know – I’m really, really sorry, Mrs. Linton,” Molly says, grimacing. “I... I got a bit carried away – I certainly didn’t mean to get your father arrested, I shouldn’t have-”
“No!” Mary steps forward to clutch Molly’s hands in her own, expression earnest, and still a bit in awe. “No, you don’t have to- That was- You have no idea how much I-” She glances away with a little laugh of disbelief, before turning back to Molly, a warm smile on her face. “Please don’t apologise, Miss O’Shea.”
Arthur waits more than a few seconds for them to finish gazing into each other’s eyes, eventually clearing his throat.
“Shall we?” he asks, gesturing back the way they came. Once again, Molly and Mary startle and quickly step back from each other, looking away in an attempt to hide their cheeks flushing. Arthur has to bite the inside of his own cheek to stop himself from grinning.
“I, uh, got you your brooch back,” he says as the three of them head back towards the street. Mary’s face lights up as he pulls it from his satchel, and she gives him a thankful smile as she places it safely inside her own jacket.
“I won’t ask,” she says.
“Probably best not,” Arthur says ruefully, which just makes Molly chuckle and Mary roll her eyes. But once they reach the main street, Mary pauses.
“Hey,” she says suddenly, glancing between them. “What are you both doing, right this moment?”
“Why’d you ask?”
“Well,” she begins with a nervous laugh, “I was... wondering if you wanted to do something? Head to the... theatre, perhaps.”
“Ooh, let’s! I haven’t been to a proper theatre show in ages!” says Molly excitedly. They both turn to Arthur with matching hopeful looks – and aw, hell, how’s he supposed to say no?
“Sure, why not?” he chuckles. “But I’ve already seen a show today – was the funniest I ever saw!”
“Oh, hush you,” Molly scolds, but she’s smiling as she links arms with Mary. “Lead the way, Mrs. Linton.”
“Please, call me Mary,” Mary replies warmly as they start off down the street.
“Well, then, likewise – call me Molly.”
Safely following behind them, this time Arthur doesn’t bother to hide his grin.
The walk to the theatre is mostly passed by Molly trying to teach him how to say ‘I’m a friend of the family’ in an Irish accent, which results in both women clutching onto each other in order to stay upright, they’re laughing so hard. The two of them agree that it’s best he leave the talking to Molly if they bump into the police officers again.
“You ‘fine ladies’ aren’t very nice,” Arthur says sternly as they approach the theatre.
“Well, look at the company we keep!” Mary quips.
“I know, it’s quite dreadful, isn’t it?” Arthur agrees, holding the door for them as they burst into more giggles. Tickets purchased, he follows them into seats in the back row. Soon enough the lights dim, and the show master comes out to whip up the crowd, dressed in an outfit that would make even Dutch look shabby. Arthur looks on in bemusement, wondering if they might see Miss Marjorie and her little crew – or, God forbid, Mr. Margaret and his ‘tiger’. But he’s pleasantly surprised by the first act, featuring a lady who’s not half-bad at singing, and the second, featuring another lady dressed up all exotic and dancing with actual flaming torches both in her hands and fastened to her hips in some kind of lantern-belt-contraption.
“You can see how this could go horribly wrong,” he says lowly as the woman twirls and flounces across the stage.
“I hope she stays away from the curtain,” Mary whispers back. Molly muffles her laughter on the other side of her.
Next up is some Italian fool in an even more ridiculous outfit than the show master, and a girl who seems to mainly be there to prance about in hosiery while the man prattles on – until he pulls out a damn revolver and hands it to her, and states he’s going to catch the bullet in his teeth. He even proves the gun is real by first having her shoot a bottle off his head. Arthur frowns – the shot sure looked and sounded real...
The crowd falls into a tense hush as a drumroll starts up and the assistant takes aim directly at the man’s head – and fires. Beside him, Mary gasps, and out of the corner of his eye he sees her jerk her arm. Arthur doesn’t notice why at first – he’s too busy staring at the stage too, where the fella’s staggering backwards, clutching at his mouth, and for a moment Arthur wonders if they’ve just seen a magic trick go horribly wrong. But then the man slowly straightens, spits something into his palm, and triumphantly holds it aloft. Sure enough, the bullet gleams in the stage lights, to much cheering and applause. Arthur scoffs, and turns to the girls to tell them the second bullet must have been a blank, and the only trick this fella managed was keeping a bullet hidden in his cheek through all his yammering earlier – Dutch and Hosea had a similar routine, back in the day.
But, glancing down, he realises that in her fright, Mary has gone and grabbed Molly’s hand, instead of his.
Arthur smiles to himself, and turns back to the stage.
“I still reckon that fella was a plant, firing blanks,” Arthur grumbles as they follow a waiter up the stairs of the Hotel Grand. Once they’d left the theatre, Mary had invited them back to the hotel for dinner – partly, he suspects, because she’s safe in the knowledge that her dear daddy won’t be there, busy as he is enjoying the hospitality of the St Denis Police Station. And partly because he suspects she wants him – and Molly – to stay as long as possible.
Because sure, the stage show was actually pretty good; but it was nowhere near as entertaining as the trip back to the hotel. Riding behind the ladies’ cab this time, Arthur had a great view of all the times one of them would start staring at the other until they got caught, the both of them hurriedly looking away, only for the process to repeat itself a few minutes later. He’d had to pull back a bit so they couldn’t hear him chuckling.
“Come on Arthur, where’s your sense of magic?!” Molly scolds as they step out onto the balcony they’d seen Mary from earlier. “’Sides, if you were so sure, why didn’t you get up and shoot at him?” She’d urged him to with a grin when the Italian fella had called for a volunteer from the audience to use their own firearm to prove his bullet-catching skills. Arthur had given her the same incredulous look he’s giving her now.
“’Cause I don’t wanna get arrested for murdering some fool in front of all those people!”
“And Heaven forbid you run into Officer Hall again with your Irish accent,” Mary whispers as they take their seats, which makes Molly throw her head back in a laugh, that red hair of hers bouncing around like flames in the light of the setting sun.
Mary bites her bottom lip, and Arthur has to look away before he starts laughing again. Because he knows that look – she used to give it to him.
“Oh, isn’t it beautiful?” Molly sighs once the waiter has finished pouring their drinks. Arthur follows her gaze, and supposes he can begrudgingly admit that, maybe, the rooftops of St Denis are kinda pretty in the sunset, if only because all the smoke and fumes gives everything a soft, hazy look. He sort of wants to draw it – though he reckons that whenever he gets a moment to record his memories of the day, he’d much rather draw the look on Mr. Gillis’ face as Molly bawled him out; then he can look at it whenever he needs a damn good laugh.
“It reminds me of my favourite restaurant in Dublin,” Molly continues. “Right on the Liffey it was, you could see half the city from there – oh, it was so gorgeous, all lit up at night...” She gives another wistful sigh.
“What brought you to America?” Mary asks curiously.
Turns out it had been the idea of a couple of Molly’s older cousins – not satisfied with the ‘typical sojourns’ to London or mainland Europe, they’d declared they were off on a Grand Tour of the New World, and a whole gaggle of them had crossed the Atlantic in search of adventure. Upon realising most of her cousins considered ‘adventure’ to be one giant continental pub crawl, Molly had struck out on her own for a guided tour of Yellowstone National Park, chaperone in tow. Mustn’t have been a very good chaperone, Arthur muses – because it was while they were en route to the park that she’d met Dutch.
The guilt he had felt earlier in the day comes back in full force. He’s known Molly nearly a year, but he never knew any of this – just that, while they were up in Montana, Dutch had brought back this finely-dressed young Irish woman, and declared she’d be staying with them. He’d overheard more than one hushed argument between Miss Grimshaw and Dutch, especially once it became clear Molly had no intention of helping with the camp chores. Dutch had waved her off, declaring that Miss O’Shea would be helping them steal from their wealthier marks – ‘A higher class of targets requires a higher class criminal, and Miss O’Shea is nothing if not high class – we can’t be having her hands all roughened up from laundry work!’ Molly had moved into Dutch’s tent not long after, and that seemed to be the end of it.
“And, I suppose...” Molly sighs, gazing down into her wine glass. “I wanted adventure – and, hmph, adventure I bloody well got! I... can’t say it was anywhere near as grand and romantic as I thought it would be. But, ach, listen to me bellyaching,” she huffs. “God, I was such a stupid little girl; it’s my own fault for-”
“No,” Mary says earnestly, reaching across their little table to squeeze Molly’s hand. “No, please don’t think that – you weren’t stupid, you were brave. I only met him a few times, but if I remember anything about Dutch Van der Linde, it’s that he’s got a way with words – and that he’s very good at drawing people in and keeping them there.”
Arthur looks away.
Luckily, their food arrives, breaking the thick silence that had started to settle over them like the St Denis smog, and the conversation turns to lighter topics – like the girls teasing him over his pronunciation of the fancy French food, and Jamie’s plans for the future.
“It’s bizarre,” Mary says, shaking her head a little in confusion. “Daddy wanted him to study politics, but he wasn’t even there for one semester before he ran off to join that... group near Valentine. After Arthur brought him back – thank you, again, really – he said he wouldn’t go back to his classes if his life depended on it. But, next thing we knew, he’s enrolled in a School of Agriculture – one of the best in the country, apparently, he’s even got a scholarship! He said he wants to study ‘fruit cultivars’, or something.”
Atta boy, Arthur thinks.
“Like apples?” he asks lightly, trying to hide his smile behind his glass as Mary gives him a suspicious look.
“Well, good for him!” Molly declares, raising her own drink in a toast. “Here’s to abandoning shite that makes you miserable and finding something better!”
That startles a laugh out of both him and Mary (and a scandalised look from a passing waiter), but they clink their glasses together in agreement.
The evening wears on, Arthur mostly keeping quiet as the girls chatter about everything and nothing – he strongly suspects, much to his amusement, that they’re forgetting he’s even there. Eventually, he stands.
“Well, I’d best be gettin’ on if I wanna be home before midnight,” he says casually.
He makes no suggestion that Molly should come with him.
Neither does she.
After slipping the waiter enough money to hopefully cover their dinner, he heads out into the street to collect Dotty. As he unhitches her and mounts up, he thinks that, instead of drawing Mr. Gillis, he might draw Mary and Molly as he left them – gazing at each other through candlelight, each with a hand atop the table, fingers tentatively brushing.
Sure enough, it’s nearing the middle of the night when the grimy façade of Shady Belle starts to appear through the gloom of the swamp. Arthur’s thinking about asking Tilly to discretely gather up Molly’s things so he can drop them off in town, when a shout interrupts his thoughts.
“Who goes there?!”
“It’s me!” he calls, slowing Dotty to a walk. Charles melts out of the shadows of the stone gateway, lowering his rifle.
“You keep riding in on different horses like this, one day you’re going to get shot on accident,” he chides.
“I not tell you how I got the scar here?” Arthur asks, gesturing to his lower left ribs has he comes to a halt beside him. Charles shakes his head at him with a fond look – then frowns.
“Wait, where’s Molly? I thought she went with you – I haven’t seen her all day.”
“She did,” Arthur shrugs.
“But, she hasn’t come back with you...?”
“Nope.”
“...I see.” Charles nods in understanding, lips twitching into that little smile that still makes Arthur’s stomach flip-flop like a schoolboy with a crush. “You look pretty pleased with yourself.”
“Well, maybe I am,” Arthur says airily. Charles laughs softly.
“You can tell me later,” he murmurs, before stepping back to resume his patrol.
Arthur tips his hat to him before riding on in to Shady Belle, no longer bothering to hide the massive grin on his face.