Chapter Text
Black coffee burns my mouth and I hold my breath until the coffee is gone. It leaves a similar burning sensation in my throat when I finally sigh, putting the tin cup down next to me in the grass. The rock I'm sitting on grows gradually more and more uncomfortable, and soon I'm forced to slide down onto the wet grass, leaning against the rock in the process. In rushed stroaks, I sketch a certain redheaded woman I've come to endear in the past few months. She, in the picture, also sits in the grass. She has her back against a tree as she stares out over a cliff's edge. In her down-turned eyes are a stoic melancholy look, a sight I've come to recoginze from her.
If she's not looking at everyone with a hawk like suspicion, she's staring out at the scenery of the camp by herself. Her arms are typically crossed or her hands are twidling amongst themselves unknowingly to her. The look of defeat on her face causes a feeling of disappointment churn my gut, like this is my fault. It almost doesn't even look natural, like she's somehow faking it for a show. If she is faking it, she's very good at what she does. It's almost as though her face was never accustomed to discomfort and pain. I knew she came from a life of priviledge, but one has to experience some amount of pain in their life. Right? Especially in these trying times.
I run aimless lines down her cheeks, spilling onto her chest. She has her hand up to her mouth as she furrows her brows in contempt. The sun before me slowly rises and insects begin nipping at my exposed arms and neck. I swat at them in vain. I don't hear footsteps approach from behind. "What're you doin'?" An irish woman inquires from over my shoulders. My heart pounds quickly against my chest, looking over my shoulder in surprise. I slam the book shut and turn away, looking down to hide the simmering blush that had crept onto my face. "Nothing." I clear my throat and go to stand.
"Can I see what you were drawin'?" She asks again, a look of curiousity in her eyes. I catch myself staring into them for longer than I should. This was one of the few moments where I've seen her happy in a few weeks. A small grin tugs at the ends of her lips and there's a playful glint in her eyes. I must look cold, staring blankly at her. I decide to double down and say "It's you." I grin and put my sketch book into my satchel. She lets out a short laugh and says, "Really?" I nod and give her a knowing look before turning to leave like the coward I was.
Before I can earnestly leave, she presses to see the picture again. I see her stepping towards me with a smile eating away at my heart. I give in under her gaze and open the book, flipping to the page without really thinking about what I was doing. I hand her the book to see, my face aflame with embarrasment. She looks at it and pauses before her smile grows. "Wait, you were actually drawing.. me?" She looks to me in confusion. "Why am I crying? Is that how you see me?" Her smile disappears and theres an accusing look in eyes that were, only moments ago, warm. My heart drops and my eyes widen in surprise. My face only burns harder and I quickly begin sputtering an apology before she shoves the book back to me.
"I'm not just a crying damsel, ya know?" She snaps. As she storms away I quickly say "That's not what I meant!" She glances at me over her shoulder. I can see her face is also red. She continues away from me towards the building. It's only then do I realize she wasn't wearing any make-up. By this point I had calmed down and a headache was reaching my forehead. I sigh through my nose, returning back to where I was sitting. The swamp surrounding me was becoming overwhelming but I ignored it. I crossed my legs and leaned my head in my hands, sipping the now luke-warm coffee in thought.
Later that day, I hop off my horse Crawfish upon entering the camp. Grimshaw half-heartedly greeted me and I waved, plucking a rabbit off the right side of my horse. I go to pull a turkey off the other side of the horse when I feel eyes on my back. I turn and see, from a distance, Molly staring at me from the other side of the camp. She has her arms crossed with one hand letting a finger linger on her lips. She stands idle at the singular dock, rotting wood assuring her with stability. Her regularly tamed red hair spirals around her shoulders in a haphazardly kempt braid.
I challenge her gaze for a moment, only for her to not back down. A shiver runs down my spine and I blush, turning away. I haul the game over to pearson's table. He thanks me and I wander away in thought, brushing my dirt caked hands on my skirt. I huff in disatisfaction at the sight of my arms. Bug bites, scratches and mud. Man hands. Making my way over to a different edge of the camp where land meets water directly, I squat down and begin washing my arms in the water. The cold water in contrast to the humidity is a feeling I had been longing for hours.
After drying my arms, I pull my hair down and yawn. The sun was setting in the other direction and my bones ached for food, sleep, a bath. I only could provide one of these things at the moment, so I made my way over to my cot.
Before me was a sight I had been imagining for years. Molly, discreetly leaning against a tree near my cot, with her arms crossed. Butterflies overwhelm my stomach as a giddish grin creeps onto my face. She seems lost in thought, she doesn't notice me. That or she wants me to say something. "Hello?" She looks to me and motions for me to follow her. Her chin jerks in the direction of deeper swamp and I get anxious. I look around for any watchers before following her.
Mud stains the edges of her dress and I look to her, only to notice that she doesn't seem to mind. I can't help but think this is out of character for her. When the camp becomes nothing but distant light and laughter, she turns to me. In the darkness I can only see her outline. Only vaguely can I see that she's been crying. She grabs my hand and sandwiches it between both of hers. My face seethes in red at this notion and I huff, looking away from her. She crosses her eyebrows while looking down at my hand.
Eventually she asks in a meek voice, "Do.. do you think Dutch loves me?.." The sound of utter loss in her voice makes my knees buckle in on themselves, but still do I stand. I meet her eyes. "Do you want my honest opinion?" I ask, unsure of how battered she really is from the entire situation. She nods. I pause before leaning closer. "No. I don't think he's ever gotten over Annabelle." She chokes and falls onto me in defeat. She sobs and grabs my back as though there was nothing else to lean on. I wrap my arms around her slowly, shocked by how quickly this escalated. I turn my head away and burn silently, rubbing her back in a meek attempt to comfort her.
"I don't know what to do, I gave up everything for that pig!.." She sputters, turning her head on my shoulder to breathe. The sheer amount of frustration in her voice sends me reeling. She gasps for air and lets out a shaky sigh. I get her to look up at me and I melt at the sight of her. Running mascara, dripping down onto her chest. Her lip has the deepest frown I'd ever seen - she can only be described as pitiful. Her face is marred with dark lines and stress marks. She'd been crying so much lately. Her eyes are puffed.
I look deep into her eyes and caress her cheek, almost brought to tears just at the sight of her. "How could you not see?" I ask, not meaing to sound accusing. She shakes her hand and falls back into me, sputtering that she didn't know. She tugged me down as she fell down to her knees. Mud caked her skirt and mine, soaking to my skin. After a moment of rocking back and forth, she spitfully asks "What does this Annabelle have that I don't, huh?" I continue to rock the two of us back and forth for a while, unable to give her a response without being sarcastic. There many qualities Annabelle possessed that not many other women had. It was unfair of Dutch to expect Molly to live up to a dead woman's legacy instead of acknowledging Molly in her own respect. The thought of his selfishness made my blood burn red.
It had been a half hour before I realized she had not calmed down, yet she had fallen asleep. In this environment? Where her hair sticks to her face and bugs threaten disease at every passing second? She's covered in a sheen of sweat, but then again, so am I. Her breathing has become passive and I come to realize that she probably hasn't been sleeping that much before hand. I lean against a tree behind me, and she slumps onto my lap in exhaustion. My heart fires brightly at the sight and feeling of it. Her hand lightly grips the thigh of my dress and I touch my face with my free hand, acknowledging how hot my skin was with the humidity and the situation playing both their hands.
I didn't manage to fall asleep.
The morning sun flows through the fog of the swamp. It casts a beam directly across her eyes and long nose, waking her. My clothes stick to my flesh in sweat. It feels horrible but it doesn't contrast in how she feels at my mercy. She sits up and turns to me. We give each other a knowing look and I resist the need to lean into her. Her lips are parted and smudged with red lipstick. The perspiration hadn't left her skin either. Her eyes glint and turn away from me as she stands. She asesses how muddy her expensive dress is before leaving, heavy steps to avoid her boots getting lodged in the mud. She doesn't bother to send a regretful look at me from over her shoulder like she had previously. Prideful, I think. I scoff and look down at my lap where she had been sleeping not 5 minutes prior.
Just like Dutch. Prideful.
I linger before making my way towards the outskirts of the camp, just to grab a change of clothes from my cot. I see Javier looking at me with the most blatant look of suspicion on his face. He doesn't need to feel the need to hide it when I match his gaze. I turn and make my way back into the swamp with a revolver tucked into my back pocket. Snakes slither away at the sound of me walking past. Dead grass and weeds accumulate at the ends of my skirt and around my feet. I hate the feeling with a passion but I don't want to ruin my riding shoes.
Upon arriving at the other side of the bayou, I set my clothes along a high enough branch before stripping entirely. I step into the water and sit down in the mud, almost completely submerged up to my mouth. My hair flows around my head without direction. The sun simmers atop my head and I breathe a sigh through my nose in discontent. I brush my hair with my fingers with languid strokes. Mayflies dance across the waters edge in the morning's glory, and fish reap the rewards of this process. I have half a mind to reach forward and grab one.
I'm laughing to myself as I think about certain memories when I hear soft steps on the shore behind me. I spin my head around and see Javier standing betix the trees with a surprised expression. We stare at each other for a second. "What do you want?" I ask irritably. "What were you two doing? Alone?" He asks in an accusing voice. I'm processing what he asked when he fires more questions. "Mutiny? Were you planning an escape with Molly?" I close my eyes and shake my head as a definite 'no'. He furrows his brows and stands idle, like he's wanting more from this interaction.
"But," I start. "If I did want to leave, I'd be free to, right? Not saying-" He jump starts to interrupt me. "Not saying I want- or I would!" He pauses before lowering his defensive shoulders. "You're not loyal to Dutch?" My eyes widen and I say, "I never said that. I'm just asking a question!" He leans in between one foot and the other before amicably saying that if I wanted to I couldn't. I turn away and face the lake and say I wasn't going to anyway. I don't hear him leave. Looking at him through the corner of my eye, I ask why he's still here. His face reddens and he disappears back into the bayou without a rebuttle. He didn't bring back up the fact I was alone with Molly in the woods for a few hours once I brought up the idea of leaving Dutch. Obviously that wasn't the meat of his suspicion. I breathe a sigh of relief and settle back into the water.
Slipping on the clean dress and hanging up the wet counterparts, I arrive back at the camp within 15 minutes. I find a hair tie at my cot and twist my hair into its usual bun before grabbing my repeater and bow, ready for another day of hunting anything bigger than a doe. Cutting directly through the middle of the camp, I hear Dutch's shrewd voice call out my name from the back of the camp. I look towards the lumbering building and see him standing on the top balcony, leaning against the railing. A cigar hangs from his lips. Ash gets in his soul patch as he moves the cigar from one end of his mouth to the other absent mindedly. I half-heartedly wave and he motions for me to come to him. Without question I do, not thinking about the shit I may be in.
I open the door to the balcony and he turns towards me, leaning against the railing. "Y/n." He states. "Do you know what Javier has told me?" He takes a long drag from his cigar and only then does a sweat begin to build up on my forehead. "Uh, no?" I cross my arms. "He says, that you and my Molly spent a night in the woods together. Alone. Now she won't even look at me." I resist the urge to say something along the lines of how he won't look at her in the first place. It doesn't take a fool to know that he'd been neglecting her for the past couple months. I don't realize I'm gazing downwards until he snaps "Look at me." A cold feeling ruptures down my spine to see an unfamiliar look in his deep brown eyes.
Hostility. Towards me? This is new. The ground beneath me feels uneasy, as it hasn't felt in a very long time. "Dutch? What're you implying?" I manage to ask with some solidarity. Yet my own eyes decieve my true feeling. "Javier says Molly had more to say about this... She said you brought up Annabelle. Is that true?" There's no point in lying to him when he already knows the answer. He just wants to catch me in a lie, as though I had done anything wrong in the first place. "Yeah, I did." I keep my answer short and curt so he can get the message that I'm not backing down from this confrontation.
His face reddens from his neck up and a hint of a vein pops above his left eyebrow. I match this with a placid expression. "Why?" He practically shouts, dropping his cigar and stomping on it before closing in on me. I don't move from my spot, but my lip does quiver in surprise. I've never had him act this way towards me before. "It's unfair the way you treat her. You realize she'll never be Annabelle, right? How can you just expect that from her when she's already more than you could ever deserve?" I shout this while looking directly up into his raging brown eyes. My own eyes mist over with boiling emotion, but I'm not about to start crying. I realize the whole camp must be listening at this point, we're outside still and we aren't exactly being quiet.
I huff and watch his fists ball up in sheer frustration. I bit the inside of my lip and wonder if he'll actually hit me, though I doubt it heavily. He would never strike a woman. "It wasn't your place." He hisses through his teeth. I burn in frustration and slight fear. We stand like this for a solid moment, challenging each other with our gazes. He eventually shoves past me into the building without another word, leaving me stunned. I look down and see half the camp looking up at me in astonishment. Or, at least, I tell myself that's what it is. I heave a sigh and follow in suit with him. Carrying myself down stairs, Tilly gives me a passing greeting. She must've not heard the commotion. I say hello and go outside.
Everyone has returned to their business as have I, yet unlike everyone else, my face hasn't calmed down. I storm towards my horse and delicately put the weapons on her saddle before getting on the saddle. Uncle waves from the corner of my eyes as I hurry out of the camp's vicinity. Crawfish huffs and sprints forwards into the trees without much hesitation. She loves going on runs, especially runs that turn into hunting. Dust flies behind us dramatically in our wake. Grass and trees glide past my field of vision. Tears spill from the shock of the event that had occured and I lean down against Crawfish for comfort. She slows but doesn't stop. She sputters and continues at a knowingly calm pace, lulling me into a better mindset.
I run repeating strokes down her maine in an attempt to pet her absent mindedly. She takes me to a pond in the middle of the woods. We're some distance from the swamp at this point, on the west side of Lemoyne. She puts her head down and starts sipping from the pond. I slide off of the saddle and sit down near her. The cicadas hum loudly around us and the sun peers through the tree line gently, as though it didn't want to upset me further. After a moment, I splash the water on my face and arms while somehow not getting it on my shirt. Not that it matters at the moment. I sigh and remember there's a spare sleeping bag attached to Crawfish's saddle.
I unroll it and lay on it, letting down my hair. I stare up at the sky and listen as Crawfish lays down next to the pond. I begin to hear her soft snores and my heart swells at the sound. In that moment I acknowledge how much I love that damn horse. The reality of the situation crushes me in an instant. Tears flow freely down the sides of my face into my ears. Into my hair. I rest my arm on my forehead and close my eyes. She told Javier everything. How much was there to tell? She obviously didn't feel shame about turning to me when she spoke with him. Yet she couldn't look me in the eyes this morning when she left? My heart pulls more tears to spill. Did she hear what I said in the heat of the argument with Dutch? I was very loud. I blush in embarrasment and wonder if she watched as I stormed out of the camp.
Turning onto my shoulder, I pick at the grass along the edge of my sleeping bag. The process of uprooting earth seems to clear my mind for the moment, though my face ceaselessly burns in shame. Javier wasn't to blame for his unfaultering loyalty to Dutch. It's well known that Dutch is practically all Javier has in the states. Granted he doesn't have anything in Mexico either. He's invested his life into Dutch, he can't risk anything now. But I can't help but feel like this is personal. I turn and roll onto the other shoulder so that I could look out at the pond. Amicably, my Crawfish looks at me from the corner of her eyes. I look back at her and my heart warms at the sight. Such a pretty animal. So dumbly loyal and stout, like Javier. Molly creeps onto my mind like a fever. I look back to the pond and think about how much it reminds me of her.
My fingers curl in on themselves while I imagine holding her hands. Between my own calloused hands would be her milky white hands, scattered freckles not marring but enhansing her delicate beauty. Mine are warm and dirty like that of a mans. In contrast to Dutch's, would she let me hold her? Would the sensation be too foreign? A sigh escapes my nose and my eyelids betray my active mind. I fall asleep soon enough after I pulled the blanket up to my chin. My dreams are vacant and dark, as they tend to be without fault.