Chapter Text
On a lazy summer afternoon in 1888, Arthur Morgan was teaching his son how to fish. They stood next to a small river, barely deep enough for the tiny pickerels and bluegills that Arthur usually threw back if he was unfortunate enough to hook one. But his son Isaac insisted on going fishing after seeing his father bring some bass for dinner the previous night. In fact, he babbled non-stop in a way only a four-year-old could until Arthur gave in and took him out for the day. He just didn’t have the heart to tell Isaac that he bought the fish.
“Now, swing the rod over your shoulder like this,” Arthur said, watching as Isaac copied him. “Good, now bring it forward in a smooth motion.”
Arthur’s line stretched far to nearly the other side of the river, while Isaac’s flopped a little close to the bank.
“Now what?” Isaac asked.
“Now we wait for a fish to come along. If you feel a tug on the end of the line, yank hard to hook it.”
“Okay!” Isaac said, staring hard at the spot where the line disappeared into the water. “When is that gonna happen?”
Arthur chuckled. “You never know for sure. You just got to be patient and wait.”
“But how long?”
“Sometimes hours!”
Arthur hadn’t planned on visiting his son that week. After all, the gang was moving to another town much farther west. The gang’s leader and Arthur’s mentor, Dutch van der Linde, believed they could repeat their string of successful robberies in a state that, hopefully, had never heard any of their names. Arthur fully intended on helping them with the packing, but Hosea and Bessie encouraged him to visit his son instead. Especially since Dutch hoped to cross the mountains before the year’s end, which would make future visits much harder. They could make the move without him, he could catch up later. Hosea understood what it was like to have a life separate from the gang.
But as Arthur rode out of camp, he caught the glare Dutch sent his way. Hosea once told Arthur that Dutch simply worried that Arthur one day wouldn’t come back. Which was absurd! He didn’t want to leave the gang. He had even asked Eliza join them after their one night together resulted in a lot more than either of them expected. But she refused. She was young, well they both were, and Arthur had been honest about his criminal past. She wanted to stay near the town where she grew up. Arthur helped her buy a little cottage, and brought money whenever he visited.
Arthur’s thoughts drifted to the pile of money in his satchel. After their most recent bank robbery, he was able to bring quite a substantial amount. He planned to take Isaac shopping for new clothes and toys before surprising Eliza with a birthday gift and the rest of the cash. It was the least he could do, considering how little time he was able to visit and help.
But he couldn’t deny the tugging in his heart every time his visit ended.
“How much longer?” asked Isaac.
“Are you bored already?” Arthur teased.
“It’s just waiting! Can we go for a ride instead?” Isaac turned his blue-green eyes on Arthur, and how could he refuse? Isaac had Eliza’s small nose and ears, but he had Arthur’s eyes and light brown hair.
“Sure,” he said, reeling in the line and whistled for his horse, Boadicea. The dark bay Thoroughbred danced over to them. Arthur acquired the young filly only a year prior from a man who challenged him to a race. Arthur took one look at her wild eyes and the spur marks on her flank before pulling his gun and demanding the owner hand her over. Boadicea followed him back to camp willingly, and she was turning into quite a horse. He rubbed the crooked stripe on her forehead. “Ready to go, girl?”
“Can we go really fast?”
“Sure! Bo loves to run, don’t you?” As if understanding him, the filly tossed her head. Once Isaac was seated and secure in front of him, he tapped Bo’s sides and she took off. They raced along the road and into the trees, Isaac shouting for joy the whole way.
Eventually, they had to slow down. “That was fun!” Isaac said. “Can we do it again?”
“We should probably start heading back,” Arthur said. “We don’t want to be out after dark. Your mama won’t like that.”
“Can we do it tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“Every day?”
“Every day I’m here, how about that? Unless it’s raining or something.”
But that didn’t get the usual excited response from his boy. Instead, Isaac asked in a small, quiet voice, “Why do you leave all the time?”
And if that didn’t break his heart. He should have known it would happen sooner or later. Isaac was growing up faster than he ever imagined, and he was smart, asking questions all the time. Arthur figured he got it from Eliza’s side of the family. He certainly didn’t get it from Arthur himself.
“Well, I have to travel around to make money. I work so your mama can take care of you.”
“But Tommy’s pa works and he comes home all the time.”
Arthur wondered if Tommy was a new friend. “Tommy’s pa probably has a job in town. My job is… different. You know that.”
Eliza knew he was an outlaw, but the rest of the town believed he was a prospector for an oil company, thus explaining his many comings and goings. They told the same to Isaac, not that the kid really understood what prospecting entailed. But Isaac muttered, “I know,” and the conversation dropped as they approached the little cottage.
Arthur pulled Bo up along the side of the house, fully intending to let Isaac run inside while he put Boadicea out with the little Suffolk Punch he bought Eliza to pull their wagon, when he paused. The door was slightly ajar. Eliza never liked keeping the door open after the day the chickens got inside and caused a mess. He strained his ears. Maybe she was sweeping and needed the door open to get the dust out. But there was nothing, not even birds chirping in the trees. His eyes drifted around the house, leading to the shattered glass of one of the windows.
Every instinct screamed to run into the house with his gun drawn, but he couldn’t just ask Isaac to wait outside. What if someone was still inside? Or nearby, watching right now? He couldn’t leave Isaac alone. “You know what?” Arthur said, unable to cover the slight shake in his voice. “Let’s visit Jim and Mabel. I haven’t seen them in a while.”
“But why?”
“It’ll be fun! Besides, Mabel always has those cookies you like.” The lure of sugar cookies was enough to stop Isaac’s questioning. Mabel and her husband Jim lived just down the road on a small homestead, and they absolutely adored Isaac and Eliza. Their two daughters were married and had moved out, and Isaac often played with their grandchildren whenever they visited. And, if someone had broken into the cottage, it would be the first place Eliza would think to go.
He hoped Eliza would be there when he knocked on the door. But Jim’s surprised greeting dashed those hopes. “Arthur and Isaac!” he said, and something must have shown on Arthur’s face because he glanced down at Isaac and said, “Why don’t you go find Mabel in the kitchen?”
Jim turned to Arthur after Isaac scampered away and said, “What’s wrong?”
“Is Eliza here?”
“No. Should she be?”
“I think someone broke into the house.”
Jim froze for a second with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes widening. Then he moved for the closet next to the door, grabbing a shotgun. “You sure?” he asked.
“Door’s open and a window is broken. I couldn’t hear anything, but I didn’t want to go in with the boy,” Arthur said, leading the way to the horses. Moving helped him ignore the gnawing pit in his stomach.
But the pit only grew as they rode back to the cottage, Arthur all the more worried what they would find. Jim walked the perimeter while Arthur volunteered to go inside. Pushing the door fully open, Arthur scanned the room with his Cattleman revolver drawn until his eyes landed on what he dreaded seeing.
Eliza lay in the middle of the kitchen in a pool of blood, her eyes closed and her limbs stiff. Arthur stuttered forward. He stopped right over her, his hand hovering above her still chest.
“Arthur?” Jim called from the door. “There’s nothing outside. Is it safe?”
He couldn’t answer. He just dropped to his knees next to her. The door creaked open behind him, and he heard Jim mutter, “Shit,” as he came up behind him. Arthur jumped as a hand fell on his shoulder, and Jim said, “I’m real sorry, kid.”
Arthur nodded, still too shocked to speak. He looked around the rest of the kitchen, taking in the overturned jars and opened drawers. Robbers, looking for money. Jim seemed to get the same impression, because he said, “I’ll get the sheriff. Do you want to come with me, or stay here?”
“I’ll stay,” Arthur said. His tongue felt thick and stuck in his mouth as he said the words. Jim squeezed his shoulder and left without another word.
Arthur stayed where he was, kneeling next to Eliza. The setting sun cast shadows across the room and over her body, almost hiding the bloodstains on her dress. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered until his voice grew hoarse.
How was he going to tell Isaac?
Arthur didn’t hear Jim return with the sheriff until the older man was back at his shoulder, carefully guiding him away from Eliza so that the sheriff and a second man could work. Numbly, Arthur realized the other man was an undertaker. “I swung by the house and let Mabel know,” Jim said. “She’ll keep Isaac for tonight, don’t you worry about him.”
The words worked their way through the fog of Arthur’s brain and brought him a little comfort. The sheriff suggested moving back to his office and letting the undertaker work, and Jim led the way back to town. Arthur’s eyes distantly watched the houses and shops pass by from the saddle. Once inside the Bellevue Sheriff’s Office, Jim shoved an open bottle into Arthur’s hands, and the smell of strong whiskey roused him somewhat. Jim’s hand was back on his shoulder, his grip strong and his eyes kind. He reminded Arthur of Hosea.
Arthur took a gulp of whiskey, and turned to the sheriff.
“Now, what happened today, son?” Sheriff Walton asked.
Arthur told him as best as he could about the day, fishing with Isaac and coming back to the house. Jim stayed with him the entire time, adding in the details he saw around the house when he arrived. It felt weird to be on this side of the sheriff’s office, reporting a crime instead of denying one.
Sheriff Walton nodded along, then asked, “Is there anyone who saw you fishing with your son?”
Arthur caught up with what the sheriff was asking two seconds after Jim. “How dare you!” Jim said. “How dare you say he had anything to do with this.”
“I didn’t say anything, sir.”
“You sure as Hell implied it! Do you not see that boy right now?”
“I’m not trying to offend, but sometimes in these cases-”
“Did you not see the house, all turned upside down? And why would he come get me if he did it?”
Arthur let them argue. No one saw him at the river as far as he was aware, and he knew saying that wouldn’t help his situation. But the argument was interrupted by the deputies dragging in two men in dirty traveling clothes. “Walton, we overheard these two drunkards talking in the saloon. Complaining that they killed a woman in a cottage south of here but only got ten dollars.”
Arthur saw red.
It took both Jim and Sheriff Walton to drag Arthur off the two robbers, but not before their faces were bloodied and noses broken. Jim forced Arthur onto a bench outside and shoved more whiskey down his throat. “I’ll keep an eye on him, sheriff,” Jim said as Arthur’s hands began to shake, grabbing a rag to wipe the blood off his knuckles. “You’ve got to let the law do their job.”
“I should have been there,” Arthur said. “I could’ve taken those two. She didn’t have to die.”
“Or you’d be dead and your boy would be an orphan. Or worse.”
“Even if I was, maybe I could have given her time to get away.”
“You don’t know what would have happened,” Jim insisted. “None of this is your fault.”
“How am I supposed to tell Isaac?”
That gave Jim a pause, and he looked to the floor. “Just keep it simple and honest. Mabel and I will be there to help you. And you can stay with us as long as you need.”
“Thank you.”
“Least I can do. Come on, let’s get back home.”
This time, Arthur didn’t feel numb. His thoughts raced, trying to figure out how to explain what happened to his son. Did Isaac even understand death yet? Arthur couldn’t remember exactly when he learned about the concept, but when his own mother had passed away from illness and his daddy yelled at him that she was dead, he had known what that meant. He’d been about Isaac’s age, maybe a little older.
They were outside Jim’s house, now. Arthur slid his gambler hat off his head as he entered.
“Pa!” Isaac shouted, immediately running to him and throwing his tiny arms around his leg. “Where’s Mama?”
Arthur picked Isaac up and hugged him, then set him down on a chair. “Let’s talk,” he began, kneeling in front of the boy. “Do you- while we- shit, I don’t know how to say this.”
Jim and Mabel nodded at him from the corner, offering quiet reassurance.
“While we were out, some men came to the house and they- they hurt your ma. Real bad. And when folk get hurt bad like that, they die.”
“What does that mean?”
He sighed. “It means your mama is gone, and she can’t come back.”
“Why not?” Isaac asked, with a slight hitch in his voice.
“Uh…” Arthur looked up at Jim, who quickly jumped in.
“Isaac, you know how you can feel your breathing? And you heart beating?” Jim said.
“Yeah.” His eyes were brimming with tears.
“Well, when people die, that all stops. Your body doesn’t work no more, so you have to leave it behind. Your ma can’t come back.”
“But she loved you, Isaac,” Arthur said. “She didn’t want to go, I promise you.”
Isaac began to cry as the message sank in. He leapt into Arthur’s arms and buried his head into his neck as he sobbed. Arthur wrapped his arms around his boy and let the tears that had been building all evening fall, too.
The morning of Eliza’s funeral, Arthur slipped out of bed early. He hadn’t gotten much sleep in the past few days, between comforting Isaac and his own worries. But for the moment, Isaac was fast asleep curled around his favorite toy, a stuffed bear that was well-loved and worn.
“How are you holding up?” Mabel asked, passing the cup of coffee she just poured to Arthur before grabbing another for herself.
“I’ll be fine,” Arthur said. Mabel shot him a pointed look. “Okay, it’s been hard.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Isaac,” she said, joining him at the table. “Now, I know you and Eliza weren’t married, but Eliza always said that you two had a good understanding. And I know you travel a lot with that oil company. I guess I’m trying to ask what your plan is?”
Arthur stared at the bedroom door. “I have no idea. I want take care of him, but…”
But he didn’t know how.
Arthur had no idea how to raise a child correctly. His father hadn’t either. Or maybe his father just didn’t care, drinking himself into a stupor on a good night and beating Arthur on a bad one.
Arthur picked at the rope around his hat. He’d picked that hat up off the ground while his father still hung from the gallows. He was finally free of Lyle Morgan, but he knew the shadow of his father would follow him for the rest of his life. He donned the hat as a reminder to never be like his father, but for the three years after it felt like he was going to die on the end of a rope, too.
But then he met Dutch and Hosea, and for the first time in a long time, someone actually gave a damn about him. They taught him to read and ride and shoot a gun. They taught John, too.
“I just wanted to say,” Mabel began gently, “that if you need help, Jim and I would be happy to take the boy. I know Eliza’s uncle lives up in Omaha now, but to be honest, I don’t even know if he’ll show up today.”
His immediate thought was to protest. Isaac was his son. He turned, ready to tell her no, but then he stopped, mouth hanging open. He couldn’t be angry at her for asking. As far as she knew, his work lead him all over the country. And she wasn’t wrong! Could he really bring a four-year-old into the uncertainty of an outlaw camp, constantly in danger and running from the law? Would that be fair to Isaac, dragging him out of the life he knew?
“I’ll think about it,” he told her. “Thank you. For everything, and for letting us bury her here.”
Eliza had never been very religious, and it felt wrong to bury her at the church. But he didn’t want her to be buried alone. So when Jim offered for Eliza to be with his family on their homestead, he immediately accepted.
“Pa?” the sleepy voice came from the door. Isaac wandered in, still holding his bear.
“Hey, Isaac,” he said. “We’re going to say goodbye to your ma today, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, crawling onto Arthur’s lap.
“You want some breakfast?”
“Yeah.”
They ate breakfast in silence.
After, Arthur got Isaac dressed into some nicer clothes and they went out back. The cross was simple, with Eliza Taylor carved neatly into the wood. The pastor only said a few words, read a few scriptures, and then asked if anyone wanted to speak. A few friends did, but Arthur only paid attention to Isaac. And he couldn’t help but notice the glare one of the older men kept sending him.
He didn’t have to wait too long to find out who it was after the coffin was lowered and the small crowd began to disperse.
“You’re Morgan,” the man said.
“Who are you?”
“Howard. Eliza’s uncle,” he spat. “So I guess I’ll have to take the boy, huh?”
“Excuse me?” Arthur said.
“The boy. It’s not like you’ll be taking care of him.”
“What are you saying?” Arthur growled. He felt Isaac hug his leg and duck behind him.
“It’s not like you did shit before. Just showed up a few times. You can’t exactly take him with you when you’re… prospecting. Of course, I expect you to provide for his care.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes at Howard, and the pieces started to come together. Howard’s disheveled appearance, the faint smell of booze. Mabel’s belief that the uncle wouldn’t even come to the funeral. And Isaac’s evident fear now. “And how exactly did you take care of them? I helped buy the house, I kept them fed. Eliza never even mentioned you.”
“Maybe if you stuck around, she wouldn’t have been killed.”
Arthur shifted to cover Isaac more. “You ain’t taking my son.”
“You think anyone will let you take him if they know who you really are?”
“Back off, Howard,” Jim said, getting between them. “He’s Isaac’s father.”
“Are you really that stupid that you don’t know-”
“I don’t care to know. He’s a better man that you. Now I’ve told you this before. I never want to see you around here again!”
Jim and a few of the other attendees chased Howard away from the funeral, but Arthur stayed by Isaac. “Is he gone?” his son asked.
“Yeah, he’s gone. You okay?”
“Yeah. I don’t like Uncle Howard.”
“You know what? I don’t like him, either. How about we head back inside?”
“Okay,” Isaac said. Arthur lifted him up, letting the boy snuggle against him as he was carried into the house. “Pa?”
“Yeah?”
“Do I have to live with Uncle Howard?”
“No!” Arthur said quickly. “No, you’re going to live with me.” He said it without thinking, but he didn’t regret it. Really, there was no other option. Sure, Mabel had offered to take him, but he couldn’t leave Isaac behind. Not now.
Mabel understood when Arthur told her. She also understood when he said he wanted to leave the next day. There was only one thing she wanted to ask.
“Are there people who can help you?”
“Yeah, there’s folk who can watch Isaac when I’m working a job.”
“No, I mean, are there people who can help you raise him?”
He thought about Hosea and Bessie, Dutch and his girlfriend Annabelle, and of course Susan, who basically kept their camp together. “Yeah. I’ve got family that will help me.”
“Good,” she said.
Arthur decided to leave early in the morning. Between travel and the funeral planning, he had already been away longer than he planned and he needed to meet up with the gang in Colorado. Mabel encouraged Arthur to write, and he promised that he would. And then they were off to the train station in Omaha on Boadicea with the Suffolk Punch carrying Isaac’s extra luggage.
“You’ve never been on a train before, have you?” Arthur said to Isaac while they sat waiting on the bench.
“No.” Isaac stared at the floor, fingers picking at the edge of his sleeve.
“We’re going to be alright, Isaac.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” Arthur said. He pulled off his hat and tried to rub some of the tension out from behind his eyes. The next few days, weeks, months even were going to be rough.
But no matter what happened, he would do right by that boy.