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The air was sweet and mild, the sun had just dipped below the terrain, and the party was just starting. Everyone was in good spirits, especially the bride and the groom. The whiskey was strong, the songs and cheers loud and the smiles wide. The women were ecstatic, they prepared the dress and the decorations, the party was their resting moment. The rest of the men drank like no tomorrow, congratulating John on his ‘big catch’. Everyone was happy - except Arthur.
Arthur hid it well. The heartbreak, the jealousy, the lonely nights knowing you would never be his. He was happy for you, you got what you truly wanted, and John would make a fine husband. He wouldn’t ruin your special night by his stupid feelings, that would be a shameful thing to do. So he hid it, as he would for the rest of his life while John was around. Only Hosea knew of Arthur’s feelings for you, as Hosea had raised him, he could tell that Arthur was painfully in love, and since he had raised you too, Hosea knew that you didn’t love him like that, and you never would.
The reception was short and sweet, at sundown, as it was tradition in camp. Susan was proud of you, as was Dutch and Hosea.
“Dutch! We got a girl over here!” Arthur yelled, loud enough for John and Dutch to hear him. John was barely a man. Arthur was well into his twenties, and still relentlessly teased the younger boy to know end.
You watched Arthur with fearful eyes, blood splattering your dress. The coach was filled with gore, and you were at the center of it all, a knife in hand, ready to stab Arthur if he took one step too close.
Back then it was trivial, everything seemed so simple. Arthur was more carefree, wild and unpredictable, a young man who sought pleasure. John even worse, a troublesome kid with a mean temper.
“You get an inch closer and this knife is going through your chest!” You yelled, your hands shaking.
Arthur backed away slowly, and pulled his gun from the holster, setting it down on the grass.
“The other one too. And the knife.”
He put his other cattleman next to the first, it fell with a clunk. The knife on his belt dropped too. You ever so slowly put the knife down, still holding it with an iron grip.
“What’s your name, Miss?” He asked you calmly.
Your eyes welled up with tears, when was the last time someone had asked you that? You gave him your name, your voice wavering. He nodded, understanding.
“I’m Arthur Morgan. We’re bad men, but we ain’t them.” Arthur told you. You dropped the knife completely. John and Dutch joined his side, and you almost instantly picked it up again. The silver glint was menacing, but could you really win against three armed men?
Arthur mumbled something to them, they both raised their hands.
“What happened, Miss?” The dark haired man asked you, he was older than both of them.
“They.. they’re dead. I killed them.” You stuttered, with shock.
“Who are they?” The older man asked again, motioning towards the bloody corpses.
“They took me from my home, they kidnapped me. I don’t know their names.”
The older man nodded, reaching out to give you his hand, you took it, stepping out of the carriage.
You had been saved.
Arthur recalled his first encounter with you. You were a fretful thing the first few months, with good reason of course. You were particularly wary of the older men too, but you learned to trust them. The first few months you confided in both Arthur and John, and by the next year it was only John. Arthur was dealing with the aftermath of Mary, and was moody and lashed out constantly. Drink had a mean hold on him. Arthur regretted it the most, in the first year, you had started to fall for John while Arthur pushed you away.
Mary called it off with Arthur that night. He was angry, beyond angry. Seething and blind with grief. When he rode into camp, the air surrounding him was heavy and electric, it’s like if you looked at him he would kill you. But behind that rage, he was upset, like he could sob until he couldn’t see anymore.
And then there was you. When he saw you, he was suddenly helpless. You were sitting by the fire, mending a torn shirt. While he rode into camp with fury, he quickly hitched his horse, rushing to his small tent to brood, but he noticed you, a beacon of light in his darkness.
He walked up behind you, you were quiet, but set the needle on your lap.
“Arthur?” You spoke in a quiet voice, feeling his presence behind you.
Arthur was frozen behind you, taking in your beauty. He felt ashamed, Mary was suddenly pushed to the back of his mind, as if she had meant little to him.
You looked up and smiled at him. His heart damn near shattered with just one look. Your eyes glistening with happiness, the fire illuminated your eyes with a bright glow and they twinkled underneath the stars.
“Can I sit with you?” He asked, his voice strangely low, you could tell he was upset. Like he was cracking at his very core.
You nodded, watching him as he sat down on the oak log.
“What’s wrong, Arthur?”
“Arthur! Arthur!” Dutch shouted, tipsy and cheering.
Arthur looked towards the poker table.
“Say a toast for us, will yeah? John’s your brother!” The men laughed, the women smiled.
He nodded, picking up his whiskey bottle.
“To the groom!” Arthur shouted, the dark liquid sloshed in his bottle. Everyone cheered.
John lifted his glass, wearing a simple button down shirt and dress pants. Susan couldn’t force him to wear a suit. He even had his unruly hair tied back for the evening.
“To the bride!”
“Arthur? What’s wrong with you?” You asked him, those big eyes looking at him with fear. Shame coiled in his gut - he couldn’t be controlled.
“Go out and get some goddamn money for us and don’t come back till you have something.” He seethed, glaring at you angrily.
“I-” you started, but were quickly cut off by him. All you had been doing was gathering flowers and herbs in the field next to camp, to give to Pearson and press the flowers into a journal you had bought for Arthur. You were planning on giving it to him once all the flowers were dried.
“All you do is sit around. Give me those damn flowers.” He shouted at you, attempting to grab your basket of plants. You stuck it behind you, protecting your collection.
“What’s gotten into you?” You yelled, fear rising in you. The lavender in the field masked the smell of alcohol.
Arthur was unhinged, his hair messy and his clothes rumpled and loose.
“Don’t come back to camp until you have money or I’ll throw you out! I’m tired of you not pulling your weight!”
You were silent, backing away from him and his rage.
John shouted your name from across the field. You turned to him, suddenly feeling relieved. Arthur was out of control.
“Give me that damn basket!” Arthur shouted even louder, grabbing you forcefully and ripped the basket out of your hands, the flowers spilling to the floor.
John swiftly came to your aide and shoved Arthur to the ground. He landed on the flowers, now crumpled.
“What the hell are you doing?” John asked Arthur. Rage burned inside him.
“All she does it sit around! Aren’t you tired of busting your ass while she gets to relax all day while we’re risking our lives?” Arthur retaliated, quickly jumping to his feet and pushing John further, John fell back into you.
“You need to go to bed Arthur, you reek of booze. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” John told him, much calmer this time.
But I already regret it - Arthur thought.
The way you looked at him would be forever burned into his mind. You looked at him with fear and sad eyes, you were hurt by his words, shocked.
And there you were, with a wide smile, staring directly at Arthur. John held you, but you were staring at him. You were breathtaking, in a lace gown with multiple layers on your skirt, a sash tied to your waist and sleeves that fell just below your elbow.
“You’ve got yourself a fine wife, John, and Mrs. Marston, boy, have you gotten yourself into some deep shit!” Arthur chuckled, shouts of agreement were heard. You playfully nodded your head at him, looking up at your husband.
Arthur couldn’t sleep - it was usual for him after Mary broke things off. His mind clouded with what ifs, and what he would have done differently. But tonight was odd, perhaps it was the oncoming storm he could feel in the air or perhaps it was because of something more.
He heard quiet whispers from the forest next to his tent, mumbled and he couldn’t make out any words. Arthur was suddenly on high alert, grabbing his gun and sneaking out from his small tent.
There was a brush of trees that backed up right to his tent, so he could be easily hidden. All the lights were out in camp, not even Uncle was wasting away at the fire. The forest was quiet, except for the whispers. It was eerily quiet, a chill crept up the back of his neck, making his hair stand on edge.
“John..” Arthur managed to make out. But who’s voice could that be, and why was he up at god knows what hour?
“You know I like you..” He heard John say, as he snuck in closer.
“I like you too. I have for awhile.” You confessed, suddenly Arthur knew. And his heart shattered again.
He peeked out from his hiding spot, just long enough to see you kiss John with compassion and pent up feelings. Arthur wished that had been him instead. Arthur backed away slowly, holding back tears in his eyes. He wasn’t an emotional man, but that night he wept. He wept for lost opportunity, that you could have been his had he not pushed you away.
“You’ll make a mighty fine husband and wife, and even better parents. I wish the two of you the best, you deserve it.” Arthur told them, hiding his longing for you.
“To Mr. and Mrs. Marston!” Arthur raised his bottle to them, patrons of camp repeating his phrase and lifting their glasses in unison.
Arthur took a hearty swig, perhaps it was long enough to satisfy his aching heart if only for a moments notice.
You danced with John, as Dutch cranked up his phonograph, a slow melodic tune. Everyone watched with heartfelt eyes, Mary Beth - the true romantic held her hand over her heart. Tilly and Karen cooed at the sight of you swaying, and Miss O’Shea held on tightly to Dutch’s arm.
Arthur took in your beauty, imagining himself up there instead. He was jealous of John, no doubt, but you would be happy as his bride. John would be good to you.
And perhaps his feelings would fade with time, but there would be none of that now.
It would always be Mr. Marston and Mrs. Marston, never the Morgan’s.
And he would have to watch you with John everyday, oblivious to his heartbreak. You would take care of John and have his kids, watch them grow up and grow old with John.
And Arthur would have to watch, as he did now, watching you sway with John with loving eyes, realizing you had never belonged to Arthur.
He would never be satisfied.