Work Text:
Sadie hefted the corpse onto the back of her mare. She passed rope over rope, tested her knots, and decided they should hold alright. Then she stepped back up onto the porch, pulling a cigarette from behind her ear, and surveyed the scene. She’d run in without stopping to think again and it showed: bodies littered the grounds of the cabin, every one of them a sorry piece of shit; but the one she’d wanted had been in the bedroom, seemingly oblivious to the commotion outside, cleaning his gun as if he wasn’t going to be needing it anytime soon. Well, he’d gotten that right. Now he was right where she wanted him, his clothes already sodden from the torrential rain, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
In the end, she thought, they’re all the same. Every time, she was surprised how little it took to kill a man. In life, you could be the most formidable bastard (as the man in front of her had indeed been, according to the bounty poster), but one little bullet and you were reduced to a thing, slung on the back of a horse like a deer carcass for the living to do with as they pleased. And if you had been formidable enough, you could be sold off like a carcass too. It was almost a shame. Almost.
Sadie stamped her cigarette out, the rotten boards creaking underfoot, and pulled her hat down to guard against the rain. She needed to be gone, now, if she wanted to be the one collecting the bounty – and it was a tidy sum, this being the leader of some north-western offshoot of the Laramie gang. She was just about to get on her horse when she saw it: an arm sticking out from under the porch, mud-streaked and blotted by bruises – a woman’s arm.
“Shit,” Sadie said, her voice drowned by the falling rain.
She knelt down and reached under the porch, taking the body under the armpits. It slid out easily, aided by the mud. Sadie brushed the hair away from the face. She was young, and even in the state she was in, it was easy to tell that she had been beautiful. Yet another poor thing who didn’t deserve what she got.
Then – maybe it was the rain lashing her face – her eyelids seemed to flutter. Sadie leaned close, her ear to the woman’s lips, her braid brushing against her face. There was no mistaking it: she was breathing.
“Shit,” Sadie said again.
Her horse wasn’t going to handle both of them and the corpse, especially not if she ran into any trouble. God knew she needed that bounty; but she also wasn’t about to be the latest bit of shit luck to happen to that poor woman.
Then she remembered the horse hitched round the side of the cabin, now presumably ownerless. Hoisting the barely-conscious woman up in front of her was something of a challenging task, but Sadie was used to those, and managed to get her more or less sitting. Sadie took off her hat and placed it on the woman’s head, and whistled for her mare to follow on. Then they rode.
*
You come to in darkness. You can smell trees, and rain, and a kind of damp earthiness, and a draught of cold air drifts over you. For a moment, you just lie there and breathe it in. It takes a while to come to terms with the fact that you seem to be alive.
Then you hear a noise somewhere in front of you. Fear kicks your body bolt upright. Your torn muscles seize up in protest, but you’re only dimly aware of the pain. All you can think of is whether the men are back.
The point of a lit candle illuminates a woman squatting at the foot of the bed you’re sitting on. You can see that she’s talking to you, but words are indistinguishable in your terror. Her empty hands are held up to show you she’s no threat, as if you’re a wild animal. Slowly you begin to relax, and your hearing comes back to you.
“My name’s Sadie Adler,” she’s saying. Her voice is husky and slow, and she stresses each word carefully, as if she knows how hard you have to concentrate to take in any of it. “You’re safe now, alright? You’re safe now.”
Sadie’s brows are furrowed in concern as she studies you, but she has an air of impossible self-assurance about her that makes you believe her about being safe.
Suddenly you begin shivering uncontrollably – you couldn’t feel colder if you were dead. Sadie notices at once.
“I’ll get a fire goin’, honey, soon as I can. It’s just a little tricky when the goddamn fireplace is full of rainwater.”
You sit in silence for a few minutes as she pokes and prods around the hearth, until the room blazes with light as the fire roars to life.
“There, what’d I tell you?” she says, pleased. “This ain’t my cabin by the way, if you’re wonderin’. It doesn’t look like anyone’s lived here for years. But I think it’ll do for the timebein’.”
Sadie lights a cigarette, striking a match off her boot, and comes to sit on the edge of the bed beside you.
“Now, what’s your name, darlin’?”
Speaking is difficult, but you manage to tell her.
“Do you remember what happened to you?”
You nod, then hesitate. Some of it you don’t think you’ll ever be able to forget, but there are gaps too. “I don’t know,” you answer eventually. “Not everything.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I know,” Sadie says, her eyes unwavering from yours. “You were bein’ held by the Laramie gang. I don’t know how they ended up with you – usually those bastards just run people off their land – but anyway, I’m a bounty hunter, and just so happened I was out to collect a bounty on one of ‘em.”
“A bounty hunter?”
Sadie nods, taking a drag of her cigarette.
“So are those men – are they-?”
“Yep, honey, they’re dead. Shot every one of ‘em myself. But you’re lucky I found you,” she adds. “You were passed out under the porch. You hide yourself under there?”
“The porch? But… they burned my house. Or, I thought...” Memories and dreams whirl around your mind in incoherent procession, and you start to feel unsteady. “I ain’t sure what happened exactly.” That’s one thing you do know.
“You got anyone?”
You shake your head. It’s just been you for a long time, which you had been fine with until this moment. It strikes you suddenly how alone you really are. That house was all you had. You feel yourself start to cry and immediately try to hold it back – it’s only a damn house – but somehow that only makes it worse.
Sadie puts a hand on your arm and holds onto you firmly as you cry. You’re not sure how long the both of you sit like that. The feeling of Sadie’s hand anchors you and helps you regain your composure. You nod a little self-consciously and tell her, “I’m alright.”
Her expression then is almost unreadable: it seems to hint at a hundred different emotions. Her hand remains on your arm, but she turns to look into the fire.
“I know what it feels like,” she says, “to lose everything. To have it taken. Same thing happened to me, long time ago. Different gang, same lowlife murderin’ scum. I lost my husband, my home – and I swore no one would ever take anything from me again. I went a little crazy, if truth be told.”
It seems impossible that the woman in front of you, who seems anything but crazy, could have endured such loss.
“I’m sorry,” you tell her, needing to say something, but she waves it away.
“I ain’t tellin’ you so you’ll be sorry, I’m tellin’ you ‘cause I know. Like I said, it was a long time ago, and they got what was comin’ to ‘em. Not that it was enough. I can tell you, nothin’ will ever feel like enough, after what they did to you. But they’re dead, and that’s the best we can do.”
She’s right. The fact that they’re dead isn’t just not enough: it feels completely meaningless to you. It changes nothing, not the facts, not the pain.
“I just… I want you to know you’re not alone. And you can stay here as long as you want, no questions asked.”
*
Sadie goes hunting around the cabin and finds a dusty old bottle of brandy stashed under the sink. It’s just what you need. You sleep for a long time, maybe days. You don’t ask: hours, days, weeks – it seems irrelevant now. When you wake up, you’re weak but in less pain, and Sadie’s sitting on a chair by the bed cleaning a revolver.
She’s concentrating so much she doesn’t notice you’re awake, and you take the chance to watch her at work. Her hands flex fluidly as she passes an oiled rag through the barrel in an obviously practised motion – she must have done this hundreds of times. It’s mesmerising.
She looks different from when you first saw her. Her hair’s loose, for one thing, springing in golden waves down her back. It falls forwards as she leans over the gun and she flicks it back with an impatient jerk of her head, wrinkling her nose. It looks so full of life, you can’t help wanting to reach out and run your fingers through it, though of course you don’t.
You must have made some motion, because you catch Sadie’s attention then.
“There you are,” she says. It’s as if she’s known you for years, which is comforting, since you’ve lost everyone who really did.
You heft yourself up into a sitting position and take a look around. The cabin is filled with afternoon sun, and it isn’t half as damp and inhospitable as it smelled on your first night there. “Place looks different.”
“Well, I may have fixed it up a little.” Sadie smiles, knowing she’s downplaying how much work she did.
“Wasn’t that window frame busted open?” you ask.
“Nothin’ I couldn’t handle.” Sadie looks at you and bursts out laughing at your expression of disbelief. “Come on, it’s easy if you know how.”
“And how do you know how?”
Generally, Sadie picks up a lot of skills on the fly. Working with her hands comes easily; she prefers tools to needles and thread, but both are within her capabilities. She’s done so many little jobs, it’s difficult for her to remember where she learned this or that, but eventually she tells you, “Everythin’ I know’s mostly down to the homestead me and my husband had in the mountains. When you’re that far out of civilisation, if somethin’ needs doin’, you’d better know how. Ain’t nobody else goin’ to do it.”
Her knowledge of carpentry, it turned out, was just the first hint. You quickly discovered you had never met a woman like Sadie Adler before. Where you came from, in the society you kept, women were supposed to be meek and polite and controlled and banal: there was a long list of rules to adhere to, which you had often felt like a stranglehold. Well, Sadie broke every one. She called things as she saw them, didn’t veil anything in pretty words. She told stories like you wouldn’t believe, swigged liquor straight from the bottle, and laughed infectiously until you both had tears running down your cheeks.
On top of that, she was complex. The woman in the stories she told you – who shot first and asked questions later, who took out an entire gang more or less with her bare hands, who got stabbed in the stomach on a mountaintop and held onto life through grim determination, who held everyone at arms’ length and called herself broken – that could not possibly be the same woman that had taken you in and gave you a home when she didn’t even have one herself. She laid a cloth on your forehead and made you tea, heated you water for a bath and turned her back while you took it. She brushed your hair, for Christ’s sakes! Somehow Sadie was all those things.
And on top of that, she was beautiful. Somehow even more so for the fact that she gave it absolutely no thought. She was self-sufficient, and seemingly fearless into the bargain. There was no reason you could think of that she would want to keep coming back to spend every night in the cabin with you, and yet she did, and continued to do so.
You find yourself opening up. It’s as if the air on those late nights draws it out of you, things that a lady simply did not say, things you never told anyone. Or maybe it’s Sadie’s influence: you can sense that she’s safe, that you’re safe.
Either way, you find yourself telling her how the truth is that you never wanted a husband.
“Well, it’s not for everyone,” Sadie says carefully.
“I don’t know, listening to you talk about it, I feel like I must be missing somethin’.” Sadie is so reverent about her husband’s memory, it’s obvious she had esteemed him highly, yet even if you met as good a man, you have your doubts about whether you would feel that way.
She shrugs a little. “My husband was the best man I ever met, that’s true. But I’ve known good women too. I just take people as I find ‘em. It’s rare enough you meet a good person, period.”
“Truer words were never spoken.”
In all your life, you think Sadie might be the first truly good person you’ve happened upon.
Not long after, you turn in for the night. As always you take the bed and Sadie takes the floor: you quickly learned that the matter is not open for discussion, Sadie insisting you’d better believe that she’s been through worse than a wooden floor and a few pelts.
You listen to her breathing, wondering whether she’s asleep, thinking about men and women and people and whether she had meant more than she’d said, whether the meaning that could have been there behind her words was intentional or only what you wanted to hear.
“Sadie?” you say finally, because you have to say something.
Her name falls into the darkness. Asleep or not, she doesn’t reply.
For you, anyway, sleep takes its time.
*
The next morning you wake up and Sadie is all business. There’s coffee on the nightstand, and she’s already got her boots on, striding around and sticking stuff into the pockets of her overcoat.
“I gotta go into town,” she says. You can tell she’s on edge: in contrast to her usual purposeful ways, she’s abuzz with nervous energy, pacing back and forward across the cabin checking things at random, throwing quick glances out of the front window.
“Anything wrong?” you ask.
“No, just we’re goin’ to need some more supplies. Maybe I’ll see if there’s any bounties needin’ brought in. Nothin’ to worry about.” She comes over to the bed, evidently having decided her preparations are complete. “Now, I laid a tripwire outside, okay?”
“A tripwire?” You can’t help but laugh. This woman! “My lord.”
“Laugh all you want, I ain’t leavin’ you here unprotected. Least this way you’ll hear ‘em comin’.” She reaches under her coat and pulls out a pistol. “I’m gonna leave this here – you know how to use it?”
You take the gun from her and feel the weight of it, tracing your thumb over the pearl inlay. It’s perfectly maintained, and a lot nicer than any you’ve handled before. “I’m not the best shot, but I know what I’m doing.”
“Good girl,” she says, and a little part of you dies. “Alright then. I should be back by noon – it ain’t more than an hour’s ride. Anythin’ goes down and you need to leave, there’s a horse outside, and half that bounty’s on the table. You come and find me, or, y’know, do what you need to do. Just mind that tripwire.”
“Alright, understood.” You nod seriously, resisting the temptation to poke fun at how concerned Sadie is over a simple ride into town.
It doesn’t seem quite so amusing when Sadie’s hoofbeats fade off into the distance and you’re left in silence. Or almost silence: there are just enough indistinct noises outside to put you on edge, leaves rustling and twigs snapping. Probably only wild animals, you tell yourself, not that that’s reassuring really. Suppose a bear takes it upon itself to investigate the cabin.
You’re truly helpless – that hits you now. You’ve been out of bed a few times – none of them were particularly pleasant experiences. As well as aching all over, a feverishness lies over your mind like a blanket of fog, making it difficult to think too clearly. You’re helpless, and you’re alone. Your thoughts start to run wild. Every sound is death approaching.
You take hold of the pistol, and try to think about Sadie. She’ll be coming back soon. It’s the only thought that brings you any comfort.
Eventually, your fever lulls you into sleep.
You jerk awake to find yourself still alone. The light seeping in through the pane is pale and watery – the sun is setting, and Sadie isn’t back. That sends you into a panic. This is it, you think – she’s gone. Whether something’s happened to her or she’s finally realised she has somewhere better to be, you’re never going to see her again.
Then you hear something outside and your train of thought stops dead. One of the gang members, they’ve located you; or maybe they’re looking for Sadie. They must have managed to avoid the tripwire. But at least you have the pistol.
Although you’re still feverish, you feel confident that the safest place is behind the door, so you at least have a chance of getting the jump on whoever comes in. Carefully staying out of sight of the window, you crawl across the floor and press yourself against the front wall. You wait for the door to creak open, and then you launch yourself at them.
For a moment, it’s blind panic as you struggle with each other, and then a voice starts to come through.
“It’s me, it’s me!” it screams hoarsely. It’s a woman’s voice. She grabs your arms and forces them down.
It’s Sadie. Of course it’s Sadie.
Slowly it sinks in, and you go limp, the pistol dropping to the floor. Sadie holds you tightly in her arms, stroking your hair.
“It’s just me, darlin’, don’t worry,” she repeats over and over.
You feel like an idiot. All you can do is make apologies, but Sadie doesn’t acknowledge any of them.
That evening, she sits you down.
“Listen,” she says.
She’s deadly serious. You straighten up as best you can.
“I had a friend once,” Sadie continues. “One thing he said – wasn’t long before he died, and I never forgot it – he said me and him was more like ghosts than people. And it’s true. This goddamn world took and took from us both, didn’t know when to let us the hell alone. When I lost my husband, some part of me died. The part that made me human. Just plain disappeared. I weren’t nothin’ more than a vengeful ghost.” She pauses, her expression bitter. “Well, I had my vengeance, and this is what’s left over.”
You start to tell her there’s more to her than she thinks, that she’s more human and more alive than any of the women you used to know, but she waves your words away impatiently.
“No, listen to me, I need to say this. I know you’re hurting. You’re living a nightmare – sure as hell felt that way for me. But you don’t have to end up the way I did. In fact I’ve set my mind to seein’ that you don’t, so you better hold onto yourself, okay, tight as you can. This doesn’t have to break you.”
You can’t stand to hear Sadie criticise herself by comparison, but you know objecting won’t do any good. Instead you tell her, “I ain’t broken, Sadie. You’ve made sure of that.”
“Have I though?”
She looks you deep in the eyes. You look away, unsure what she wants to see, afraid she’ll see something she doesn’t like.
“Seems to me like you were ready to kill someone today.”
“Well, I thought someone was gettin’ ready to kill me!” you counter.
Sadie laughs, but you get the distinct feeling she’s unconvinced.
“Look, I know that what happened today wasn’t good, and it could’ve gone a hell of a lot worse than it did,” you admit. “But still, I don’t have to be weak just to prove I ain’t turned into a maniac. Suppose it hadn’t been you comin’ in this afternoon. You gave me that pistol for a reason.”
“That’s fair, I suppose. I’ll just make sure an’ holler next time I come home.”
Home.
You let it slide, but both of you notice the slip. She called it home.
*
You always assumed that Sadie would be moving on soon enough, having her own life and business to attend to, but days turned into weeks and months and she was still there in the cabin with you, and you were glad. Having Sadie around makes things feel more real and more bearable, makes your somewhat sorry existence, as you slowly recover, a little more lifelike.
She doesn’t just bring money in, she works hard on the house, fixes the front steps. She chops firewood every morning. The nights are getting warmer and you don’t really need it, but Sadie’s chopping it anyway. You get the feeling she likes it.
You feel impossibly grateful, because you can’t imagine what Sadie’s getting out of the situation. You think she must be the most selfless person you’ve ever met. The truth never crosses your mind, probably because Sadie’s buried it inside herself. She feels a responsibility towards you. Yes, you remind her of herself, way back when, and it’s the right thing to do, to help another devastated woman put her life together; all that’s true, and yet it’s not all.
Neither of you stops thinking about that slip of the tongue. But after all the time you spend drumming up the courage to ask her about it, it’s Sadie who finally gets to the point. Just sets down her drink one night and says:
“Look, I just need to know, one way or the other. Is this what you want?”
You don’t need to ask what she’s referring to.
“Yes.” You hope she can hear the absolute certainty in your voice. “Do you?” you ask. “Want it? You’ve got a whole life of your own.”
She rolls her eyes. “Bounty huntin’? Spendin’ my days runnin’ round after bad folks? It’s a living. It ain’t a life. Bein’ here with you is different. I’ve seen enough to know you’re one of the good ones.”
She kisses you then. It feels like home.