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Just when she was starting to dream of their new life, he has to go and die. And for what? Money, again. Money none of them would get to see. It all seemed so pointless. She had relied on him. She had loved him. If it weren’t for Jack she didn’t think she’d go on. She imagined wading into the misty river and hiding beneath the surface, disappearing forever.
Everything had fallen apart. It was gone. John was gone. She felt sick. Jack wouldn’t look at her. Seeing her like this was too upsetting. Tilly did her best to get him to sleep, but he kept asking questions she didn’t want to answer. Whoever was left, if there was anyone left, they weren’t going to see them ever again.
Sadie made her way over to Abigail who was sat on an old crate at the edge of the water, away from the warmth of the fire, away from everyone else.
“Hey,” she said, announcing herself. Abigail just stared into the mist.
“Eat somethin’,” said Sadie, offering the grieving woman a piece of rabbit meat. It was still hot from cooking it over the fire, stringy and charred.
“I’m not hungry,” was all she said, and it was true. She did not feel hungry, nor thirsty, nor cold. She felt almost nothing. She only felt pain. An empty pain. Being reunited with Jack after Arthur and Sadie had rescued her had brought her so much joy, but it had soon passed to be overcome with the sadness that came with John’s loss.
Sadie sighed and knelt down beside her.
“Do you want someone to sit with you?”
“I want to be alone, Sadie.”
Her voice broke a little when she spoke. The gunslinger sighed again and nodded. She understood. She understood completely.
“We’ll leave you be,” she told her before leaving. As she walked back to the campfire, gnawing on the meat that Abigail didn’t want, Tilly looked up at her, asking if Abigail was okay. Sadie only shook her head. She just hoped that Abigail wouldn’t let her grief turn her into what Sadie herself had become since losing her own husband, Jack didn’t deserve that.
They listened to the lapping of water against the shore and the distant sound of bird calls as they echoed each other from the trees. The sun was rising. Golden yellow, it reflected off the water. But the world still seemed so grey at Copperhead Landing.
“We should move,” said Sadie. Tilly agreed and started gathering what little they had left. Abigail was still at the water’s edge. She knew they had to leave, but something wanted to keep her right where she was. Maybe it was her exhaustion. Maybe it was her desire to die. But she ignored the feeling and slowly got up when a thought came to her.
“Arthur,” was all she said. Maybe the something keeping her there was hope, hope that Arthur would come for them. They had so little left it would bring Abigail from the brink if she knew he’d be with them.
Abigail faced the others. Sadie was making her way over, wanting her to get on the horse. If she had to hogtie that woman to get her to come, so be it. She was not going to let her wallow on the muddy bank of a polluted river, not when her son needed her.
“Arthur ain’t comin’,” Sadie carped, taking Abigail’s arm.
“Then who’s that?” asked Tilly from her saddle. They looked out into the mist that was beginning to clear as day broke. A figure was stumbling towards them. Sadie readied her revolver. It was a man. He clung to an injured arm, the hand that held it also holding a gun. Through the mist, Jack was the first to recognise him.
“Pa!” He squealed as he wriggled from Tilly’s grasp. She let him down from the saddle and the little boy went running over to his daddy. John took a few more steps to meet him in the middle. He holstered his gun and knelt down in the mud to catch Jack in a hug, not minding one bit the pain the impact caused. At this, Sadie also returned her gun to its holster. She smiled and laughed.
“I knew you’d come! I knew it!” Jack shouted happily. Abigail watched on for a moment, her hand covering her mouth in shock. But now that she was seeing him, she did not feel shocked at all, she had been expecting him to come.
“Oh John,” she sighed as she walked over. Hearing her voice, John stood. They took each other’s hands first, gazing at each other, smiling. Then Abigail laughed as she closed the space between them and pulled him into a kiss, one more tender than any other she could recall. He held her weakly, but so close. When they parted, her fingers hovered over the brim of his hat, afraid to touch it. It was Arthur’s hat. John reached up and took her hand, and he just held it. Warm and rough and everything that she didn’t think she’d get to feel again.
“Thank God you’re alive,” she whispered.
“Thank Arthur,” he whispered back. Abigail understood, but Sadie began to ask,
“Is he…?”
John shook his head sadly. Sadie looked away.
As they rode away from Copperhead Landing, Sadie letting the injured John ride with Abigail as she walked alongside the horses, John whispered a quiet thank you to the man that made this possible. For the the rest of his life, whenever he was feeling particularly grateful, he would do this. A quiet thank you to Arthur Morgan.