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You were the song that I'd always sing
~Passerine, Oh Hellos
Jack was so confused.
They’d moved camp again, but he was used to that. Sure, they didn’t usually do it this much, or this often - but he’d had a lot of homes in his life. Some were better than others - he didn’t much like Colter, the snow was fun but Mama hadn’t let him go out and play, and Uncle Charles and Uncle Javier had shuffled him inside when he’d snuck out, and that one camp (he thought they’d called it Cliffock?) had been all rock and ledges and boring, Uncle Dutch and Aunt Grimshaw always chasing him away from anything fun cause “You’ll fall, Jack!” - and he didn’t much like this one.
He’d liked Shady Belle.
It’d been like something out of a story book - a mansion, two stories tall! With a staircase even, and a ‘gazebo’, and a fountain though it didn’t work, a roof and rooms! He’d had his own bedroom (that he shared with Mama and Pa, of course) and he’d gotten to meet Papa Bronte (but don’t tell Pa he still called him that) and made friends, though they weren’t nice folk, were kinda rude, and he’d gotten to try spaghetti and wear fancy clothes!
He had missed Mama and Pa and his Aunts and Uncles though, Uncle Hosea and Uncle Dutch especially. Uncle Dutch didn’t spend as much time with him anymore, didn’t have time to read books with him—
“I’m busy Jackie, go ask your Ma or Pa,”
—but Uncle Hosea always made time for him even when he was busy, would scoop up a stick and play knights, would even be the maiden in the dress if he asked nicely, would sit down and try and teach him to read.
But they’d left Shady Belle, too.
Uncle Kieran (“don’t call him that!”) had come riding in all funny, falling off his horse (and he’d never seen him again) and then it had been like something out of Uncle Hosea’s books, shouting and screaming and loud noises and Pa dragging him inside, and when it was done there’d been hollering and yelling and he’d been scared, but Uncle Hosea had checked on him, and Uncle Dutch had too if only for a moment, and then he’d seen even less of Uncle Hosea.
The night before they left Shady Belle, Uncle Hosea was the one to put him to bed. Read him three chapters of Otis Miller and the Boy from New York, tucked him in and kissed him on the head like he hadn’t since their camp by the lake (he’d liked that one well enough, though they’d kept him away from the water Uncle Bill had taught him how to skip rocks and would sometimes skip rocks with him, and it was where they got Cain so it couldn’t be all bad! Though he hadn't seen Uncle Sean since they’d left that camp, and he really did miss him, even if Uncle Sean confused him at times.)
“Love you Jackie,” Hosea had said, smoothing down his hair, and he’d already been half asleep but he’d said back
“Love you Uncle Hosea,” and the man had smiled, blowing out the candle and leaving him to sleep.
Then the next day Uncle Charles and Ma had come flying in on Taima, and they were moving. He knew better than to get in the way, so he’d sat off to the side as they packed up as quick as they could, shoving necessities in their wagons while Aunt Sadie and Uncle Charles tore out of camp, clasping his hands over his ears to protect them from Aunt Grimshaw’s shrill screaming.
And he hated the new camp - it was filthy, and gross, and the ground squelched beneath his feet in a way that he didn’t like. It had done the same down in Shady Belle and he’d liked it but it hadn’t done it this much, and Aunt Sadie and whoever was outside usually didn’t let him out at all, shoving him back into the cabins before he could get anywhere because “There are gators, Jack” and he could hear them hissing all around but there had been gators near Shady Belle too, hadn’t there?
Ma cried a lot, too. Tried to smile when she saw him but he could tell, and when he asked what was wrong she’d say “I just miss your Pa,” which he didn’t understand because Pa had been away for longer before and she hadn’t cried like this, and he had Uncle Bill and Uncle Javier and Uncle Hosea and Uncle Arthur and Uncle Dutch and Uncle Lenny and Uncle Micah so why was she upset?
Everyone seemed upset though, and he didn’t understand why. They smiled when they saw him or, at least, tried to look less upset - Aunt Sadie never really smiled, but she looked even sadder than usual when she and Uncle Charles rode out one day and didn’t come back until late the next - he’d been left with Uncle Uncle while the rest of his family gathered outside and it wasn’t fair but Uncle Uncle had patted him on the back and said ‘you’ll understand some day, Jackie.’
Jack was nineteen, his father’s blood still on his hands, a pair of graves freshly dug, when he finally understood what Uncle meant.
Uncle Arthur came back, and of course Jack was happy. It was his Uncle! And Uncle Arthur was one of his favorites (but don’t tell the others), but with Uncle Micah, not Pa or Uncle Hosea, Uncle Bill or Uncle Javier or Uncle Dutch or Uncle Lenny and he was confused - where were they? Still, he hugged him, and the man was glad to hug him back though he stank, and then they were pulled away because Aunt Grimshaw was insisting that Uncle Arthur ‘get that filth off your face right now!’ and then the adults were talking and he was being shoved off to the side again - something about Pa and ‘Sisika’ and a ‘chain gang’ but he didn’t really understand.
Uncle Dutch came home that night with Uncle Javier. He went to run up and hug him though he was looking behind him for Uncle Hosea - Uncle Dutch and Uncle Hosea were always together, but the door closed behind them and everyone was closing around him and he was being jostled and Uncle Hosea wasn’t there. He jumped up, tried to yell and be heard, but adults are loud and groups of them are even louder so no one even noticed him.
Then Uncle Bill came home, and everything went crazy. Uncle Arthur shoved him under a table and told him to ‘stay there!’ and he always listened to Uncle Arthur so he did, voices screaming outside, wood exploding everywhere and then Aunt Tilly was grabbing him and pulling him with her behind a crate, and then just as suddenly as it started it was done.
Uncle Lenny, Uncle Hosea and Pa didn’t come home that night, and he didn’t get to talk to Uncle Dutch until very late the next day.
He tried asking Uncle Arthur first, on account of that he’d been with Uncle Hosea last so surely he’d know.
And the man’s face had turned a funny shade of white, and he’d started to make a funny sound in his throat, like he was trying to make words but couldn’t get them out, and his eyes that were already red had gone even redder, had glazed over like that dead opossum’s he’d found the other day, then Aunt Sadie had been shoving him away with an apology to Uncle Arthur.
Even Sadie had jumped when, after they’d entered the cabin, the door barely closed behind them, Uncle Arthur made a sound that was a scream but wasn’t a scream, high-pitched and awful and though he didn’t know why Jack had burst into tears right alongside him, and then there’d been a crash and Aunt Sadie had shoved him towards Aunt Mary-Beth before hurrying back outside.
He tried asking Aunt Mary-Beth, too. Then Aunt Tilly, and Aunt Susan, but all three’s faces had drawn up like they’d eaten something sour, and their eyes had gone funny too, though they didn’t scream, and finally he’d been handed over to Ma and she was already glassy eyed so he didn’t ask her.
As soon as he could (which wasn’t very soon) he went looking for Uncle Dutch.
He found him leaning on the fence, over the swamp with the gators, and it wasn’t fair because if he did that he’d have gotten a spanking but adults had different rules than he did which wasn’t fair, jumping when he called out “Uncle Dutch?” which was kinda funny because he never scared no one.
Uncle Dutch ran his hand down his face, looking very tired, which was strange because Jack had seen him go to sleep right after things went quiet last night, but adults are Strange so he didn’t say nothing, “What is it Jack?”
“Where’s Uncle Hosea?”
and Uncle Dutch’s face did a strange thing then, seeming to fall into itself, lips baring his teeth for just a moment before covering them, falling down as though he’d eaten something awful, those funny wrinkles getting deeper until they weren’t so funny anymore, and he gulped audibly though he didn’t start making those funny sounds that Uncle Arthur had, instead opening his mouth and closing it like a fish. “I…”
He reached up and pressed his fingers into his eyes like he did sometimes when the others were getting on his nerves, and Jack was worried he’d annoyed him - had he heard that he’d been asking about Uncle Hosea? But he just wanted to know, Uncle Hosea had promised they’d read Otis Miller and the Black-Hearted Lady next and he’d had a copy since Clemens’ Point, and Uncle Hosea was never gone this long without telling him!
“Jack…” Uncle Dutch started again, and when he brought his hand away his eyes were glassy, glassier than he’d seen on the others, even on that stinky opossum he’d found, and his breath shook, rattling in a way Jack had never heard before, as he knelt in that way he hated, the way people did right before they talked to him like he was a dumb little kid.
“He’s not…” he swallowed, reached out in that ‘come here’ way adults used and he jumped into the hug, finding Uncle Dutch shaking like a leaf, “Your Uncle Hosea’s not coming home.” and… that didn’t make sense. Uncle Hosea always came home. But… so had Uncle Mac and Uncle Sean, up until they’d all left and never come home again.
“Like Uncle Mac?” he pushed back to look Uncle Dutch in the eye, but Uncle Dutch wouldn’t meet his gaze, blinked rapidly, shook his head,
“Like… like your Uncle Davey, Jackie.”
and he remembered Uncle Davey, remembered them coming flying back with Uncle Davey slumped on the back of Uncle Javier’s horse, remembered sitting there as Mama and Aunt Grimshaw tried to stitch him up, remembered blood everywhere, remembered him going limp as they set him down on the bed in Colter, remembered them burying him.
He couldn’t imagine Uncle Hosea like that. Couldn’t see him being put beneath the ground forever, couldn’t see never seeing him again - couldn’t imagine never being tucked into bed by him, never having him read an Otis Miller book to him, never being called ‘our little prince’ by him again.
“No!” burst out of his chest, surprising even him, and Uncle Dutch flinched, reaching up to grasp his wrists when Jack began to pound on his chest, “I WANT UNCLE HOSEA!” and he’d never been one for tantrums - he’d tried, once, and been laughed at so hard he’d never tried again - but he began to slam his fists into Uncle Dutch’s chest as hard as he could, screaming “NO!” over and over at the top of his lungs.
“I know,” Uncle Dutch’s breath caught, and he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in until all he could do was wrap his fingers in his vest and cling, screams dying into sobs, whimpering “I want Uncle Hosea,” until he was breathless and hiccuping, the older man shuddering and making a strange, choked sound, clutching him close, “I know, son, I know.”
His Ma still cooling in the ground, Edgar Ross not even starting to rot, Jack Marston visited the graves of all his Aunts and Uncles - even his Uncle Dutch, Uncle Javier and Uncle Bill, though they’d wronged his family he remembered them fondly and felt the need to pay them his respects.
He left his Uncle Arthur’s hat hanging on his grave marker - the age of the outlaw was over, and he thought it was time to put it to rest - and when he finally visited his Uncle Hosea’s grave, last of the thirteen, he left a tattered, well-loved copy of Otis Miller and the Boy from New York behind alongside an aged but otherwise pristine copy of Otis Miller and the Black-Hearted Lady.