Chapter Text
July 12th 1892
“Watch it, street rat.”
You glared at the sweaty factory worker who bumped into you. Being kicked around wasn’t foreign to you, especially as a child trapped in the bustle of Whitewater, but come on—in front of a preacher?
“...the angel from heaven tells the women who visited Jesus’s tomb,’Do not be afraid. I know that you are looking for Jesus that has been…”
Scripture was mildly interesting to you. Whenever the field hands got together at night, someone always read a passage before bed, listening to it helped you sleep after hours spent in the sun. Passages read aloud now meant easy dinner. Preachers coming to town and causing gatherings allowed you to swipe people’s coins or watches if they had them. You spotted a well dressed man closer to the front of the small crowd. Too well dressed. Either he was confident and the men beside him are paid to jump you the minute you step close enough, or he just dressed fancy to compensate for something, lack of coin possibly. Not a viable option. After a few moments you settle on a young man with mostly clean boots. You quickly wriggle past skirts and long legs to “accidentally” tumble into the young man. Your hands grabbed his belt for balance, one of them around his money pouch.
“Sorry Mister–My ma’s down by the seamstress and I gotta reach her!” You exclaimed. Your hand quickly yanked the pouch off his belt without notice and hid behind your back.
“Yeah yeah, run off,” The man grumbled and turned his attention back to the sermon.
You scurried past the ends of the crowd and slipped behind crates stacked in an alley. The pouch seemed promising, it was a good weight, good size. You untied it and stared at the contents. A rock the size of half your palm. And two cents. That wasn’t enough for a piece of bread.
“What the…” You turned it upside down to dump any other possible coins but to your disappointment, nothing fell. What kind of lunatic puts a rock in his money pouch? There was the option of wading through the crowd again, but the man could cause a ruckus if he saw you. Kids on the street with your lack of cleanliness would be the obvious suspect for a missing pouch. Thankfully it was midday still, travelers would still be leaving and entering Whitewater. It was a pain to dodge horses and wagons but it was worth it for some food.
You headed near the edge of town and noticed two wagons just about to leave. You rushed after it once you realized there was no one in the back of the second wagon.
“Son, did you fall in the manure? You reek.” An older voice rasped out. You carefully hoisted yourself into the wagon and pulled the cover over your head. The wood creaked as a second weight settled in the front and the reins quickly snapped, pulling the wagon into motion.
“I ain’t that bad Hosea. Look at Arthur. Bet he rolled in it.” Another voice huffed.
“Arthur at least goes to an inn when he has the chance, or dunks himself in the river. I reckon Miss Grimshaw will splash you with a bucket once we get set up.” Some potatoes in a bag. No, you didn’t have a way to cook them, useless. Canned peaches. Maybe if you use a rock to break it, but hopefully there was something easier. No jewelry so far. A box with a horn, nothing of interest. Was all the valuable stuff in the first wagon?
“I’ll clean up, I'll clean up.”
You crawled on your knees to the end of the bed and peeked out of the blanket. You were getting rather far from Whitewater. You quickly rummaged through more items and boxes. In your haste, you bumped against a crate, the bottles clattered against each other louder than you expected.
“What was that?”
The wagon slowly stopped and your anxiety spiked. “Hold up, checkin’ on somethin’!” The young man hollered, probably to the rest of the group. You crawled as far back as you could and squeezed in between some clothing bags. You should’ve grabbed the peaches and ran, why on earth did you keep looking?
“John, it's probably nothing.”
“Just makin’ sure it ain’t a rat or whatever rodent’s here. You remember when that squirrel jumped out at Dutch when he grabbed his bedroll?” He chuckled.
You tried your best to control your breaths as the cover was tugged off the items. It was quiet for a bit and then you could hear a horse trot over.
“What’s takin’ you?”
“Something’s in here.”
“So? Get it out.” The new man grumbled. He sounded slightly older. Meaner.
“I ain’t too keen on being bitten right now. Kinda hoped it would jump out when I took the blanket off.”
“Yer an idiot…hm”
You gasped when you felt the back of your collar be pulled upward.
“Lil stowaway we got here eh?” Narrowed eyes bore into yours. You felt like a scruffed puppy as your feet dangled so far from the ground. Good lord his horse was tall.
“Arthur.” The older man said in a warning tone.
“I wasn’t gonna hurt ‘em,” Arthur—as you gathered, lowered his arm and your bottom landed on the dirt with a thud. So much for that.
“My dear boy–er.… girl—uhh…” The older man’s brow pinched at your appearance but quickly shook his head. “Where did you come from?”
“Town.”
“Your parents?”
“No clue.” You hobbled back onto your feet.
“Want to tell me why we found ya in our wagon?”
“Because I was there.”
Arthur let out an exasperated chuckle. “Kid’s messin’ around. And wastin’ time.” Frustration laced his words. “Hosea, John, we gotta get goin’.”
“Ain’t gotta tell me twice.” John gave Hosea a quick nod and returned to the reins.
“Are you headin’ somewhere? It ain’t safe this far out without a grown up.” Hosea ignored Arthur and knelt down to your level. You shrugged. The less answers you gave the better. “Do you mind ridin’ with us until tomorrow morning?”
You looked at Hosea as if he’s insane. You don’t know these people. For all you know they could be riding right to the Carters’ farm. You’d rather go back to starving than to the Carters’ farm.
“I’m alright Mister. Just was hungry.”
“Hungry?” Hosea smiled. “We got someone who can make a good enough stew for you when we set up camp.”
Arthur snorted but quickly disguised it with a cough. Your stomach growled, stew sounded amazing.
“Mister Matthews, is everything alright?” Another man rode over on his horse. How many men are gonna keep checking in? This one looked decent, clothing wise. Definitely cleaner than the two younger men. He looked down and gave you a charming grin. “And who is this, may I ask?”
“Street urchin lost their way.” Arthur answered before Hosea could open his mouth.
“Kid was just hungry Dutch.” Hosea groaned as he stood back up.
“Well,” Dutch swung his leg over his saddle and jumped down. “We’ll be stopping not far from here. We’ll feed you if you stick around.”
You fiddled with your fingers. Worst case scenario, you could eat and run away or run away if they don’t feed you. “How far out? And where?”
“Near that big lake.” Dutch raised a brow. “You hidin’ from someone kid?”
The words on your tongue fell dry. “Uhh no. I just don’t like…creeks much sir.”
“Oh god help us, another Marston.”
“Shut up Arthur,” Dutch rolled his eyes. “Go along with Hosea here, he’ll ride along with you and make sure you’re comfortable. And pay this brute no mind.” Dutch gestured up to Arthur.
And just like that you were once again on the wagon bed watching Whitewater fade away to nothing but a speck as the sun’s light slowly faded into night. You glanced over at the two men on the seat and decided you preferred Hosea for now. John seemed nice enough to not bother you, but he doesn’t seem any better than that Arthur feller. No use in thinking much about it. You’ll eat and be on your way. The horses’ whines snapped you out of your thoughts, you arrived.
“Alright button, come on down.” Hosea held out his hands to you.
“Button?” You questioned as you were lifted out of the wagon bed.
“You didn’t tell us your name,”
“You didn’t ask.”
Hosea looked at you amused. “Would you tell me if I asked?” You shook your head. “Hence, button.”
“Miss Grimshaw this is…” Dutch led a lady over to the pair of you. He looked at Hosea to introduce you.
“Button,” Hosea patted your head. “Clearly they ain’t fond of answering questions, can’t get their name.”
“Right. Well…Button here needs some tending to, I’m sure they’d help out if you ask.”
“Hmm, well that hair will need fixin’, maybe a cut. I’ll clean ‘em up before Mr. Pearson gets our meal ready.” Miss Grimshaw seemed terrifying, but straight to the point.
"See that you do," Dutch nodded at you both.
She ushered you over to the lakeside and got to shearing off the mats in the ends of your hair. “You heard of a hairbrush youngin?”
“Too expens—agh!” You winced as a brush tugged at tight knots in your scalp.
“Tch, you’re filthy. Don’t you find some less muddy roads to sleep in?”
“I try.” You bit back a yelp as she continued her relentless brushing. The bath wasn’t much better. Miss Grimshaw scrubbed your skin raw and poured that freezing lake water on your head over and over until she was satisfied.
“There we go, that seems better,” Miss Grimshaw tied your hair back so your face was more visible. “Acceptable appearance. I know this shirt and pants are old and a little big, but John’s old clothing is the only one I found that might fit you. Anything else would seem like you’re swimmin’.”
“It’s okay, thank you.” You tightened the rope around the pants and fastened them to your waist. She didn’t offer to clean your old clothes, she insisted they were better used as a fire starter than to cover your back. The tortuous smell of a cooked meal wafted over, your stomach felt like it was chewing itself from the inside out. “Is it ready yet?”
“Hm?” Miss Grimshaw gathered her things. “Seems like it, be a dear and bring this up and leave it by the wagon, I reckon you’ll get there before me.” You nodded and took the soap and hairbrush from her.
You tumbled into camp and beelined to Hosea who had a second bowl on the ground beside him.
“I see Miss Grimshaw performed her magic.” He picked up the bowl and offered it. “I bet its nice havin’ your scalp nice and fresh now.”
“Yeah.” You took a small bite. Holy. The stew was suddenly being shoveled into your mouth as fast as your hand could travel. The taste was abysmal but it's been so long since your tongue touched meat you didn’t care.
“Yer gonna make yourself sick.” Arthur settled on the ground beside you. “Slow.” You spared a glance at Hosea and slowed down. “Pearson’s gonna love your enthusiasm with his stew.” You later learned the man with the big gut was Mr. Pearson. The group was small, so far it consisted of Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, John, Mr. Pearson and Miss Grimshaw. That box with a horn, Dutch explained it was a gramaphone—played a piano tune softly, you haven’t felt so calm in weeks. Dutch picked up a book, Hosea was whittling and John left with a rifle to guard camp.
You were unsure where to look so your gaze focused on your hands. Your fingers were darkened from hours in the scorching heat, the Carters believed you served well scrubbing their laundry after helping the older farmhands till the soil. Though slavery was outlawed, most of the farmhands insisted the Carter family partook in it. It wasn’t your fault you were there per say. Some lady in New York grabbed you and marched you over to the train cart full of orphaned kids. You were six at the time. Your folks were perfectly alive and the picture of health—you just were selling newspapers at the wrong time. Stop after stop, land owners selected which kids they wanted to introduce to their family. Once in Wisconsin, the heads of the Carter family selected you and two teens. You believed somehow you could convince them to send you back to New York. Clearly they had money for fancy jewelry and clothes, surely they wouldn’t mind spending a bit on a ticket back east. That hopeful thought was 3 years ago.
“Can I stay the night?” You approached Dutch after the pot was cleared from the fire. “I promise I won’t take up much space– and I’ll be quiet!”
Dutch placed his book down and smiled down at you. “Of course, I believe we have a spare bedroll somewhere. Arthur!” He barked at the cowboy who just entered camp. You didn’t even notice he left. “Get 'em all set up for the night. I’m sure the kid will be more comfortable sleeping by Miss Grimshaw.”
You followed the reluctant man as he retrieved the bedroll from a trunk. “I can sleep over by the lake.” You offered.
“Alone? No. You don’t know who’ll pass by.” Arthur pulled out a small blanket. “This one okay?”
“It’s fine…” It’s not that you didn’t want to sleep next to Miss Grimshaw, you just didn’t like sleeping by a fire, even if it's reduced to ashes. “What about by that boulder?”
“The one next to the horses?” Arthur sighed. “Look kid, if sleepin’ next to Miss Grimshaw is that big of an issue, you can take my tent and I’ll sleep outside.”
“But–”
He held up his hand. “I was plannin’ on it anyway. You probably need a decent night of sleep, the cot in there is nice enough.”
Embarrassment pricked at the back of your neck, one night and you basically kicked one of them out of their tents. “Alright. Thank you Mister.”
“Let me know if you need anythin’, I’ll try not to be a grump if you wake me.” He led you over to his tent and opened the flap for you. “Night kid,”
“Night,”
All feelings of shame left as soon as your back hit the cot.