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ONE. Pictures.
Whenever she saw him, her heart fluttered. It had been like this since the very first day she’d laid eyes on him. She hadn’t found the courage to actually speak to him at first, but watched from afar, blushing deeply and quickly looking away the moment his gaze shifted to meet hers. She’d pretend to busy herself with something, waiting a minute or two, just long enough to give him a chance to look away, before she’d attempt glancing over at him again. Sometimes he would still be staring at her, which would make her immediately look away again, ignoring the feeling of the churning knots in her stomach while her face burned hot. Other times, however, something or someone would’ve gained his attention and she could let herself go back to watching him, surreptitiously.
Still, she never spoke a word to him, much too shy—until the day he spoke to her, first, tearing her attention away from the book she was looking at fast enough that she could almost be embarrassed. Her eyes narrowed a little in an attempt to block out the sun as she turned to him, hand lifting to her forehead to block out the rays so she could see him better.
“So, uh, what’re you readin’?” Even in sounding so awkward, John still made Abigail blush—he was too cute. She watched as he shifted a little ungainly on the tree stump he was currently perched on.
“Readin’?” she asked, expression quizzical, before it dawned on her that she was, indeed, seemingly reading a book to anyone who might’ve noticed her. “Oh, no, I’m just lookin’ at the pictures.”
She tilted the book to show him the pages she was looking at, and the pictures that adorned them, smiling bashfully, almost a little embarrassed since John now knew that she wasn’t as ‘educated’ as some of the other girls in camp.
“Oh,” John replied, watching her for a moment, “I see.” Then, he looked away from her, having been called to attention by Dutch; conversation ended.
She watched as he rose from his stump and let her eyes trail after him, taking notice of his near bouncy gait. It seemed she was always learning something new about this man, and nearly everything she learned about him made something in her heart twitch.
Her eyes lingered on John, even once he was too far away to be in earshot, watching his lax movements as he approached Dutch, the way he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, never quite able to be still.
Her gaze persisted, watching the gestures between the two, noticing Dutch beckon Arthur over as well. They talked briefly, Dutch explaining something she couldn’t hear, and Arthur nodding before heading towards the horses, with John begrudgingly in tow.
They mounted the horses, and Abigail watched as they disappeared into the brush; off to do some mission for Dutch. She wondered how long they’d be gone.
Abigail tried not to seem too disappointed, forcing herself to return her gaze to the book in hand, turning to the next page as she pressed herself even further back against the wagon she’d been leaning on.
The conversation she’d had with John—albeit brief—at least had broken the ice for future conversations down the road.
—
Nearly two weeks had passed before Abigail heard Arthur and John return. She hadn’t been the first to notice them, only looking up when she’d heard Pearson’s raspy voice booming out in greeting them.
“Mr. Morgan; Mr. Marston! You’re back! What’d you bring me?”
She looked up from the water-filled tub that she’d been washing the dishes in, eyes zeroing in on the two men, watching as they dismounted their horses, and other members of the camp approached, though she hardly paid any mind to anything that was being said.
Most of the attention appeared to be on Arthur, with him being the one who answered the questions being flung at them, but Abigail couldn’t help but watch John. He hardly seemed interested in standing around and watching as the other camp members gave the brunt of their attention to Arthur.
Abigail knew she hadn’t spoken to John besides their one, brief, encounter nearly two weeks ago, but she still found herself discarding her current chore in favor of making her way towards him, hastily wiping her hands on her skirt in an attempt to dry them as she got closer.
“How’d you two get on?” she asked once she was close enough to capture John’s attention. John turned to look at her, stopping in his tracks, seeming almost surprised that he was being asked about his trip.
“Oh, uh, just fine, I guess,” he replied, using the same awkward tone as the last conversation they’d had. “Didn’t have too much trouble.”
“Do anythin’ excitin’?” She hoped she wasn’t pestering him, but she was getting a bit restless in only getting to stare at him from afar rather than actually get to speak to him.
“Uh, not really,” John answered around an abashed chuckle. He wished he had something more interesting to tell her, but the truth was that their scouting trip had been rather boring, all things considered. “Mostly just seen a lotta desert with a whole lotta nothin’ around us.”
“Oh…” Her brow furrowed slightly, not really liking that their conversation seemed to already be dying before it hardly even had a chance to start. “Well, ya didn’t miss much here, anyway; was pretty borin’, too.”
John nodded, and glanced off towards his tent. Abigail could tell that the dwindling conversation really was ending, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from frowning.
John started moving again, resulting in Abigail following suit, doing her best to keep up with his gangly stride.
“In fact,” she started up again, not willing to let their conversation die so easily, “It was so borin’ that I think I was actually startin’ to miss seein’ your face around here.” The words were out before she could think better of them, and the bemused look that John casted her way made her suddenly wish she could go back in time and not say anything at all.
“That right?” he asked, making Abigail blush, while wondering if he was blushing too or if her eyes were just playing tricks on her.
“Uh, well, I mean—” She hated the way she stuttered on her words, only making her face warmer, and feeling like she could kill over on the spot when she saw the amused smile starting its slow form on John’s lips. “O’ course! How else was I supposed to get my daily entertainment of watchin’ ya tryna carry pails of water from the lake over to Pearson and windin’ up wearin’ more of the water than anythin’?”
She hoped she didn’t offend him with her teasing, it just happened to be one of her go-to flirting mechanisms, especially when she found herself floundering and not wanting to embarrass the mess out of herself. But, when she saw the smile of amusement on his lips grow, she figured she was in the clear.
“Y’know, it’s funny you say that because I was just thinkin’ about how much I was missin’ seein’ you tearin’ more holes in clothes than actually patchin’ them up,” John replied, resulting in Abigail letting out a mock offended gasp and reaching over to give him a light, playful shove.
“Hey, now! Better watch yourself ‘fore I wind up puttin’ holes in your clothes!”
The hearty chuckle she received in response was enough to make her heart patter against her ribcage and butterflies ravage her stomach.
It was safe to say that Abigail was completely, undeniably in love with John Marston.
—
TWO. Lonely.
Abigail was only nineteen and already, this wasn’t the life she had envisioned for herself. Though, she wasn’t quite sure what she had envisioned for herself that she could actually make happen these days. A year ago, she had just been happy to be accepted into a ragtag group of people who welcomed her with open arms and didn’t make her use her body just to survive. Sure, she had to do chores, but Abigail wasn’t so proud that she wasn’t willing to do her part if it meant she had a place to lay her head at night and food to eat.
She was still thankful to the group for taking her in these days, but it wasn’t just her now. She had a toddler to look after, primarily by herself. Sure, Arthur helped her out more than she’d ever be able to repay him, as well as Hosea, and the other women who would offer to watch Jack for her if she had something she needed to do, but Jack wasn’t their responsibility. He had a bunch of amazing aunts and uncles who cared about him and who would do anything for him, but the boy had a father who should’ve been here doing the things that said aunts and uncles were doing in his stead.
Abigail still hadn’t forgiven John for what he’d done; she didn’t know if she ever could.
She could tell that he was beyond nervous when she’d fallen pregnant with Jack, but he’d made it seem like they would work it out, despite his nerves. She’d believed him, and had been completely blindsided when he’d up and left one night while they were all asleep. He’d only left a measly little note behind that Mary-Beth had been kind enough to read to her.
‘I ain’t cut out for fathering a boy that ain’t even mine. He’s better off without me around. Everyone is.’
Abigail hadn’t often considered herself the crying sort, but his sorry excuse for a breakup letter ripped her heart into more pieces than she thought imaginable. She would do her best not to cry in front of the others, opting to let the tears slip out in private, but there were times every now and then that she’d get caught. She hated the sympathetic looks they’d give her, the attempts at comforting words, and how pitiful she must’ve looked to them.
She would brush their concerns off, tell them that she was fine, and not to worry about her. She would be alright.
She wasn’t sure she ever would be, fully, but it got easier to deal with John’s betrayal as time went on. By the time six months had passed, she’d mostly gotten used to him not being there. She didn’t cry over him anymore, but if she thought about him for too long she worked herself up and put herself in a bad mood for the rest of the day.
She knew that she’d never get over John and she hated that fact.
She wasn’t going to get the life she’d imagined for their little family and it both infuriated and scared her.
—
Abigail sat on a washed up log by the shoreline, watching as Jack tossed pebbles into the water. None of them skipped, as he wasn’t quite skilled enough for that just yet, but Abigail filled him with words of encouragement nonetheless.
“Thataboy, Jack!” she cheered, earning giggles from the boy. “Just don’t get too close to the edge of the water, okay?” He frowned a little, but nodded anyway.
Lord knows neither of them knew how to swim.
Abigail watched him as he scooped up another handful of pebbles to toss into the water next, when she heard some commotion coming from behind them.
“What in the world?” She turned to look over her shoulder, despite not being able to see anything atop the hill. “C’mon, Jack. Let’s go see what’s happenin’.”
Jack only protested a little as he was scooped up by his mother, placed on her hip, and given the promise that they’d come back to skip more rocks in a little while.
Even as she reached the edge of camp, she couldn’t make out what was happening on the other side of it. She was still out of earshot so she couldn’t really make out what was being said, only just barely able to catch Mary-Beth’s attention as the young woman moved past her.
“Hey, Mary-Beth,” Abigail called after her, making the girl stop and turn back around to face her. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Oh, uh—” She looked hesitant, and Abigail could tell that she was reluctant to say anything. But, knowing that Abigail would just find out on her own, anyway, Mary-Beth relented with a sigh. “It’s…John. He’s back.”
Abigail was stunned into silence, only able to blink at Mary-Beth as she processed this new information.
“He’s…what—?” she barely managed to croak out, but she didn’t need Mary-Beth to repeat herself. Abigail had heard her loud and clear. She could feel the fire ignite in her gut, flames flaring up wildly as the anger suddenly consumed her something fierce.
“Can you watch Jack for a minute?” she asked as she set Jack down, but it wasn’t really a request so much as telling Mary-Beth to keep an eye on the boy while Abigail went to go deal with his father.
“Sure,” Mary-Beth said softly, not really minding either way. “C’mon, Jack. Let’s go find a book to read, yeah?”
Abigail wasted no time in trekking across camp, pushing past the crowd of people as she forced her way to the front, yelling, “Where is he?! John?!” She only stopped once she was face-to-face with her husband.
At first, she could hardly believe it was him, but she could recognize that greasy black hair and dark brown eyes from anywhere. He looked malnourished, but she was too angry at him to show concern at that moment.
“Finally decided to show your face here again, huh?! You got some nerve! Leavin’ like you did and thinkin’ you can just come back like nothin’ happened!” She was seething with anger, glaring at him, not caring about the scene she was creating.
“Yeah, well, you yellin’ at me like this is makin’ me think that maybe I shoulda stayed gone.” The words were half-baked, despite the venom she could hear behind them. If John didn’t mean what he said, she sure as hell couldn’t tell.
It made the fire in her gut blaze out of control.
“Why, you—!”
She was positive the slap could be heard all the way in Blackwater with the force she’d put behind it. Even so, John barely moved, practically eating the slap and hardly reacting to it. It only made her angrier. He’d hurt her and wasn’t showing any remorse. It was enough to make her want to lunge at him and make him feel something even remotely close to what he’d put her through.
Before she could get her hands on him, however, she could feel a strong arm wrap around her waist, pulling her back, and making it impossible to attack John like she so desperately wanted.
“C’mon on, Abigail,” Arthur said, voice tight. “He’s a goddamn idiot but you can’t go killin’ him just yet!”
Abigail still struggled against him regardless, but all attempts were futile and she eventually tired herself out.
“You’re a horrible man, John Marston!” she yelled after him as she was being steered away from him by Arthur. “Pathetic, sorry excuse for a man!”
She could feel her eyes burning but she refused to let herself cry over him. He didn’t even deserve that much.
She would feel guilty about slapping him later, but would never be able to bring herself to apologize for it, either.
—
THREE. “You brought him back to me!”
The waiting had been pure agony, with Abigail having to keep the worrisome thoughts at bay. She didn’t want to believe that things had gone south with Sadie and Arthur’s rescue mission, but the longer she was forced to wait, the longer she drove herself crazy with troubling thoughts that maybe none of them made it.
They should’ve brought her with them. Of course, she understood their refusal to do so, realizing that they made sense in their rejection, but with the alternative being waiting and worrying, she would’ve rather been there just to be able to see for herself that John had been rescued safe and sound. She knew it wasn’t smart, but when was love ever such a thing?
Her eyes settled on Jack poking at the campfire with a stick, Mary-Beth and Tilly sitting on one of the logs in front of him. At least she knew for certain that her son was safe, for the time being, anyway. They needed to get out of this place before things got much worse—especially with the group falling apart the way it was.
But first, she needed John back.
The sound of hooves as they drew closer were enough to pull Abigail from her thoughts, peering around the flaps of her tent, eyes widening upon seeing Sadie and John trotting back into camp with Arthur in tow.
In no time flat, she was up on her feet, rushing to their side, chest feeling a million times lighter than before as she called out, “You brought him back to me!”
“We told you we would,” Sadie replied, slipping off of her horse while Abigail rushed to John’s side, barely giving him time to get off of Sadie’s horse before throwing her arms around him.
She reluctantly let him go upon hearing Dutch yell out John’s name, a relieved smile falling from her face.
“John! What are you doing here? ” Dutch asked, not even bothering to hide the annoyance in his tone.
“It’s good to see you, too, partner,” John replied, sarcastically, moving to meet Dutch halfway, Abigail on his heels.
“I meant I hadn’t sent for you yet—”
They met in the middle.
“I went,” Arthur interjected, finally making his presence known.
Dutch looked at him incredulously. “But I said—”
“Yeah, I know what you said,” Arthur replied dismissively. “I felt different.”
“Is that so?”
Dutch was challenging him and Arthur decided to step up to the plate.
“Yes.”
“And when springing John brings the law down on all of us, what then, Arthur? ” The annoyance could still be heard, clear as day, in Dutch’s tone.
“Well, I guess we’ll have another fight on our hands.” Arthur held his ground.
“Loyalty, Arthur, it ain’t…” Dutch could feel the control of the situation slipping through his fingertips. “I had a goddamn plan! ”
He set his sights on John next.
“John,” He started, then paused for a moment to collect himself and try, yet again, to gain some control over the situation. “John… You are my brother; you are my son. I was coming for you—”
“They—” John cut him off, doing his best to compose himself. “They was talkin’ of hangin’ me, Dutch.”
John moved his arm out to hold Abigail back before she could lunge at Dutch, while Dutch had already started to move away from the three of them.
“They was talking, ” he emphasized, holding eye contact as he backed away. “They was talking, and now they may come and hang us all.”
Having had enough, and deeming the conversation over, Abigail brushed by John and Arthur, grabbing John’s arm on the way, pulling him back towards their tent. It took a few light tugs, before John relented and let her drag him away.
Once inside their tent, Abigail moved to let the flap fall down, giving them some privacy, before moving to John’s side.
“Absolutely ridiculous,” Abigail found herself grumbling, in reference to Dutch. The fact that he was all too willing to let her husband hang ate at her terribly. It made her want all the more to get away from this dreadful place.
Sitting down next to him on the cot, Abigail reached for his face, thankful for the natural light that brightened up their tent, making it easier to see. He was dirty with minor cuts and bruising, much to her relief, but it still killed her that it happened in the first place.
And that awful uniform…
“C’mon, arms up, John,” Abigail instructed, with John doing as told, letting his wife tug the striped shirt up and over his head. “We gotta get you outta this outfit and into somethin’ more comfortable.”
Abigail barely resisted the urge to trace her fingertips over the cuts and bruises on John’s torso, brow furrowing as she thought about the treatment they must’ve given him.
She hadn’t been the perfect wife, had even put her hands on him more times than she’d care to admit, but she’d been trying to do better. Besides, she wasn’t some beefy prison guard with a power complex who probably got off on making others feel small and weak. John might’ve been lean, but he certainly wasn’t weak.
“I begged him to go save you and he wouldn’t do it,” Abigail found herself murmuring after a few moments, grabbing John’s discarded uniform once he’d finished removing it. “What a horrible man—!”
Upon leaving his clothes in a pile by the opening of the tent (she would worry about burning them later), Abigail moved back to his side, sitting back down next to him. She watched as John worked on redressing, brows knotting together as she silently wished she could do more for him.
“The important thing is, I’m back now,” John tried to reassure her, though he couldn’t deny his annoyance at knowing that Dutch was in no hurry to come save him. All those years of being called the man’s favorite, and this is what it got him—a damn near hanging.
“I know,” Abigail sighed, hand moving to grab John’s and squeeze it lightly. “I’m glad. I was…real worried about you, John.”
She could feel electricity shoot up her arm upon feeling John squeeze her hand in return, heart fluttering in her chest.
“Me too,” John murmured in response, feeling his heart swell at the thought of how much Abigail cared for him. He hated that he’d been so stupid before, trying so hard to get her not to love him; to push her away, as if that made things easier for them. He found himself, now, feeling more than grateful that she’d never given up on him. She truly was better than he deserved.
A beat of silence passed, with the two catching each other’s gaze, before John felt himself leaning in, capturing her lips with his own.
Abigail found herself melting against him in an instant, thoughts of getting walked in on the furthest thing from her mind, letting herself get lost in the moment just for a little while.
The kiss was firm and hungry and left the two of them wanting more, even though it wasn’t a smart idea given their current location.
Abigail’s hands clutched at John’s shirt, tugging at it on instinct despite the fact that John had only just put it on, while John’s fingers got lost in her hair, making her, once, mostly kempt bun messy, with some hair coming loose and falling on her shoulders.
Once they got like this it was hard to stop—especially with emotions running high.
It wasn’t until Abigail could feel John’s lips trailing down to her neck, and using one of his hands to pull her hair free from its bun, that Abigail had to force herself to pull back.
“John,” she very nearly whined, “Wait; stop. We can’t do this here. Not with so many people around…”
John remained undeterred, lips lingering against her neck while he twirled strands of her long, black hair around his fingers.
“You worry too much,” he sighed against her skin, making goosebumps form as she shivered, earning a faint smirk from John. “No one’s gonna come in here…”
As much as Abigail wanted more than anything to just give in and let John have his way with her right then and there, she knew it simply wasn’t possible. With how high tensions were—and as nice as it sounded to be able to let off some steam—it really wasn’t a smart idea to push their luck.
“I think you know that ain’t true,” Abigail replied, reluctantly pushing a hand against his chest. “We got a son, don’t we?”
Shit.
She was right, John realized. All it would take was Jack pulling back the tent flaps one time to be scarred for life. John didn’t want that for him. He might’ve been entertained by some of the women in camp now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t decide he wanted to check on his parents.
“Alright, alright,” John said with a sigh, finally pulling back and watching in mild amusement as Abigail went about tying up her hair once more. “Unless…”
Abigail stopped, mid-action, eyeing him suspiciously. “John…” Her tone was a warning, but John pretended not to notice.
“I’m just sayin’, we could…disappear for a few minutes and no one would even realize we were gone.”
The suggestion alone made Abigail’s cheeks burn, but the added mirthfulness to John’s tone just made it worse.
“Oh, really?” Abigail replied, sarcasm underlining her tone, as she fought to hide her chagrin. “And just where would we have to go, huh? Ain’t nothin’ around here, ‘cept for lotsa trees.”
“What’s your point?” John asked, as if that wasn’t a problem at all for what he had in mind.
Abigail stared at him incredulously, hastily finishing tying up her hair, as she replied, “My point is that there’s nowhere we could go! The woods ain’t gonna do nothin’ for privacy!”
She rose to her feet then, taking a step back from John in case he attempted to reach out for her.
“You think them weirdos in the forest’ll just let us do whatever we want, undisturbed?” She really didn’t understand John’s logic sometimes. Sure, if this had been back at Horseshoe Overlook or Clemens Point, that would’ve been one thing, but this was Beaver Hollow, and possibly the most dangerous location of all.
“Oh, c’mon,” John said, rising to his feet shortly after her. “I ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen to us, Abigail. You know that.”
“I’m not sure I do,” Abigail replied, stubbornly, but it wouldn’t take much to crack her resolve.
John reached for her hand and she let him take it.
“We won’t go far. We can make it quick.”
“Oh, I already know it’ll be quick,” Abigail teased, making John blush and chuckle faintly in embarrassment.
“Well, I ain’t gonna make ya do somethin’ you don’t want to, but you should know that I’ve come a long way from before.”
“Was that supposed to be a pun?” Abigail asked, tone akin to amusement.
“What? No! Look, I was just meanin’—” Abigail cut him off, giving his hand a light tug.
“I know what you meant. Now c’mon before I change my mind.”
She moved to pull him out of the tent, John smirking, pleased, in response.
“Yes, ma’am.”
—
FOUR. Home Sweet Home.
John’s letter had filled her with hope.
Abigail hadn’t been happy to leave him in the first place, but something had to give. She, nor their son, could keep on living in fear of something happening to them or John, and with how reckless John had been acting lately, it had finally been the straw to break the camel’s back.
For a while, Abigail couldn’t help but wonder if it had been the right thing to do, but had wound up pleasantly surprised to find that her and Jack leaving had been just the kick in the pants that John needed to try to do better.
She had missed him something fierce.
The house had been surprising enough on its own, but nothing compared to John’s reaction to seeing his family walking up the road.
“You—” The look of amazement on his face brought a smile to Abigail’s lips. “You’re—”
They ran to each other, only stopping short for a moment before Abigail let out a sound of relief and threw herself into his arms. Her own wrapped themselves around his neck, holding onto him tightly as she felt him lift her off the ground.
“I…” John breathed, but the words still escaped him in his astonishment.
“You always did have that fine way with words…” Abigail replied through a faint chuckle, still clinging to him even as John reached over to ruffle Jack’s hair.
“You doin’ alright, Son?” John asked as he finally set Abigail down, but kept an arm wrapped around her shoulders.
“Sure, Pop,” Jack replied, recovering from having his hair ruffled. “Can I go see the house?”
“Sure.” John nodded and watched as his son grabbed his luggage and moved towards his new home.
“Just give him some time,” Abigail said softly, gesturing after him. “He’ll warm up.”
Turning back to grab her luggage, she continued, “It’s quite a place you got here.”
“It’s yours,” John said, picking up her luggage for her.
“Ours,” Abigail corrected, unable to keep the smile on her lips from growing wider. After a pause, she nodded her head back towards the house. “I should see about that boy.”
John followed close behind her on their trek back towards the house, eyes falling on the yellow lab he’d seen arrive with them.
“Who’s my new rival?”
“Oh, that’s Rufus,” Abigail explained, amusement lacing her tone. “He’s loyal, dumb, and angry so he reminded us of you.”
“That your idea of a joke, miss?” John asked in mock offense.
Abigail watched him for a moment, hand moving up to gingerly brush his arm as she lightly replied, “I guess.” A soft affection surrounded her words.
“C’mon!” Jack called after them, breaking the moment, and earning their attention.
—
The inside of the house was somehow bigger than Abigail had imagined, but she wasn’t about to complain. Hell, John could’ve given her a home not much bigger than the near shack they’d been living in briefly at the Geddes’ ranch and she still would’ve been happy.
The point was that John tried. He was continuing to try to make his family happy and Abigail was more than pleased to report that he was, indeed, succeeding.
“So, whaddya think?” he asked, tearing Abigail from her thoughts and making her glance over at him. “This everything you ever hoped for?”
“Well, it’s a li’l sparse,” Abigail commented, noting the lack of furniture aside from a few bits of them here and there. A smile tugged at her lips after a moment, showing that she was only teasing him… mostly.
She lifted a hand, lightly pressing it to John’s stubbled cheek, as she continued, “You did good, John.”
Rising up on the tips of her toes, Abigail leaned in to press a fleeting kiss to his lips.
—
FIVE. Meeting Again.
The loss of Uncle had been rough, but the loss of John had nearly destroyed her. She was starting to believe that it actually had, but she was still in the stage of denial. She didn’t think she’d ever come out of that stage. She’d experienced the others—mostly anger—but they came and went. Denial decided to stick around with her for much longer.
In a singular day, Abigail had already had her entire world turned upside down.
She’d just gotten her family back together; John had just barely managed to get their ranch back on its feet again, and then he’d gotten ripped away from her in the blink of an eye.
She tried to stay strong, at first, for Jack. She knew that he needed her and that they were all each other had left. She hadn’t wanted this kind of life for him. She’d wanted him to be able to do something with his life; get an education and maybe have a family of his own one day.
What she hadn’t wanted was this.
Abigail hadn’t wanted him to be stuck taking care of her and the ranch all on his own. He was still just a boy and it was too much pressure. Even as the years went by and Jack went from being a boy to being a man, Abigail hated the life that had been forced upon his shoulders.
Gone were the days of her angsty, reclusive teenage boy who’d rather sit in his bedroom reading a good book, and in were the days of him fussing over her near constantly while simultaneously tending to all the farmwork.
Abigail felt awful that it had turned out this way, but in the three years following John’s death, she’d found herself growing ill. Some days, she could hardly bring herself to get out of bed, and even then, she hated to be in it, alone.
The days that she could get up, she didn’t do much more than sit around and attempt doing patchwork or cleaning. Even then, she barely managed to keep the house tidy and her cooking skills had only gotten worse.
Jack could see the decline, but didn’t know what to do about it. He tried to convince her to go to the doctor, but Abigail had refused each and every time he’d bring it up.
She tried to convince herself that this funk would pass and she’d be back to her normal self eventually—or what was left of her ‘normalcy’. Since John died nothing felt normal anymore. Abigail still thought of him daily and cried over him nearly as much.
John Marston truly had been the love of her life, and it showed in how she could never find it in herself to fully move on.
Her chest often hurt, feeling pangs in her heart that she ignored in favor of blaming it all on her asthma. She would push on, try to get through it and continue working on whatever chore she was attempting to do that day. Usually, it worked; other times it didn’t, and Abigail would give up on chores for the day.
One day in particular, she experienced the all too familiar chest pain, but didn’t have the chance to try to push through it before she found herself collapsing in the kitchen.
Jack had heard the noise and came running, horrified at the sight of finding his mother laid out on the kitchen floor.
“Ma!” He called out, rushing to her side, watching as she gazed up at him. “Ma, what happened? Is it your chest?” He’d noticed the way she clutched at her heart, and tried not to assume the worst.
She was still with him at the moment, and he didn’t want to scare her by freaking out.
“Jack…” Her voice came out just barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry…”
“Hey, no, don’t say that,” Jack pleaded, clutching at her free hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m gonna get you some help, alright? Just- just hang on—!”
By the time Jack was lifting her to her feet to carry her out to his horse, she was already fading.
“Never forget… I love you…”
And just like that, she was gone.
—
At first, she thought it must have been a dream.
Abigail awoke in her bed, the feeling of a warm, comforting arm, wrapped around her waist, with her back pressed into something warm and solid.
Glancing down, she noticed that the comforting arm was clad in the sleeve of red, thermal underwear, the hand, itself, was olive and calloused.
It was enough to make her abruptly sit up in bed, stirring John awake before she could do so, herself.
“John?!” she croaked out in disbelief, but John only smiled languidly at her, sitting up to lean over and press a kiss to her cheek.
“Good morning, my sweet,” he greeted her against her skin before slowly pulling back. “I missed you.”
Wrapping his arms around her middle, he pulled her into his chest, pressing his lips into her hair.
“Sure took your sweet time gettin’ here, didn’t ya?”
A choke of a laugh escaped her before she could stop it, as she responded, “Yeah, well, I couldn’t make it easy on ya, now could I?” She could feel the tears already welling in her eyes, threatening to fall.
She shifted around to face him by the time one slipped out and John caught it with his thumb, wiping it away, gently. He laughed softly, warmly, and Abigail could already feel herself growing more at ease.
“Even in death you are a difficult woman,” John teased, lifting his other hand up to encase her other cheek with it, using his thumbs to continue to wipe away any tears that continued to fall from her eyes.
“You know that’s what you loved about me in life, anyway,” Abigail quipped back, hands coming to rest on either of his forearms.
“Well, one of the things I loved about you, anyway,” John corrected through a hum. “Still do, actually. Never stopped.”
Abigail let out another teary huff—the best she could currently do in lieu of a chuckle.
“Well, if you ever did stop, I’d be inclined to believe I’m in hell rather than heaven, or—whatever this place is.”
“Well, I can assure you, that’s not possible, darlin’,” John replied in the same airy tone as before. “Can’t stop lovin’ someone who has so many things to love…”
“Silly man…” Abigail breathed out, voice soft. “I always did tell you not to forget I loved you…”
John let out another soft, warm chuckle. It was enough to make Abigail’s heart twitch just as it had when she’d very first met him.
“Oh, trust me… I never did forget…”
“Well, good,” Abigail replied, voice still soft. “Because I still do love you. Never plan on stoppin’ either…”
By then, her tears were all mostly dried up, but John didn’t move his hands. Abigail found that she didn’t mind, anyway, as she moved in to kiss him as passionately as she’d yearned to for the last three years.