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The sun seems brighter than usual as it begins to set over the western treeline. Bad men live in those forests, she knows, she's been warned ever since she could walk to never go off wandering beyond the fence alone. Sometimes she had nightmares about those dreams, especially after Jackie told her those silly ghost stories, and when Mama found out she chased him around the barn for an hour. Looking at the treetops now, though, she doesn't feel afraid. Something tells her that she could finally go walking in that forest for hours on her own, picking the prettiest flowers and chasing the bunnies, and not a single man or beast could harm her.
She doesn't leave. Not yet. She sits on the step of the porch, bare feet swinging, soaking up the golden rays of the sun on her face after what felt like months in her little room. It's a warm afternoon, the kind Mama would usually tell her to wear a hat or hold a parasol to protect her pale skin, but she doesn't need that anymore. She stretches her tiny fingers in front of her, wiggling them about, imagining she's playing the sunbeams like keys on the piano. And somehow she manages to hear what music the light makes (much better than Mama's playing, not that she'd tell her that...Maybe just whisper to to Daddy in private).
A soft clapping of hooves in the distance interrupts her performance. A cooling shadow falls over her as she looks to see the silhouette of a man riding towards the house. This man is real tall, bigger than Pa, much bigger than the delivery men who sometimes come to collect the milk and eggs. They don’t usually come this late in the day either.
He could be one of the bad men from the Tall Trees. A monster from her brother’s stories come to steal her away. She’s all alone out here, which is odd, and no one would see if this man gobbled her up like the big bad wolf.
But that ain’t gonna happen. She knows that, as soon as she gets a look at the man’s face. Any tingle of fear is washed away by those eyes.
The man eases his horse to stop. A great big, beautiful mare with black spots and a chestnut mane that looks well brushed. Even the horse looks friendly; strong but friendly, just like her rider.
She gets to her feet, one hand on the wooden railing, as the man dismounts.
He takes off his hat; “Good evenin’, little lady.” He greets her, gruff but gallant, and she’s reminded of the knights from Jack’s other stories. She likes those ones a lot.
“Hi…” she squeaks, feeling oddly bashful; “Uhh, how d’you do?” She tries to be polite, as Ma would want her to be addressing a stranger.
He smiles and nods; “How d’you do. I hope I haven’t scared you.”
“You ain’t, mister.” She tells him, honestly, still clutching onto the wood with one hand. The man isn’t scary at all. Every bone in her body tells her that he wouldn’t hurt her.
There’s just something about him, about this moment, that’s got her feeling real strange. Like something important is about to happen and she doesn’t quite understand it, or know if she wants it. The world suddenly feels too large, when for all her life it’s mostly been this house and this ranch and the few trips she took beyond that fence, to the river or over the fields, only twice into the nearby town for a movie and an ice cream.
He gives a chuckle at her answer and takes a step closer; “I sure am glad to hear that for once.”
Her eyes glance to the object he’s holding to his chest.
“I know that hat! Pa keeps it above the fireplace!” She says with a point of her finger.
“That a fact?”
She nods; “Mmm hmm. The deer that Daddy killed wears it. I think it looks silly. Deers don’t wear hats! Only antlers!”
The man laughs again; “I guess that’s true, but it wouldn’t be the strangest thing I saw, I’ll tell you that.” He walks closer and places the hat on top of her dark hair; “Here. Why don’t you hold onto it for me, for a bit?”
The black leather falls over her eyes, it’s far too big for her. But she tips it back, holding the rim with both hands, looking up to give the man a smile. There’s a tiny wince in his face as he looks down at her and she worries, for a moment, that he’s about to cry. A sniff, then he’s back to beaming at her.
“Mind telling me your name, darlin’?” He asks.
She doesn’t see any harm in it; “Morgan. Miss. Morgan Abigail Marston.”
“Morgan Mar…” The man cringes, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath; “John, you sentimental little bastard.”
“Huh?”
“Nothin’, nothin’.” He brushes off.
“I get called Abby though. Pa only calls me Morgan if I’m in big trouble.”
The man snorts another laugh; “Yeah, that sounds more right. And how old are you, Miss. Abby? You mind if I call you Abby?”
She shrugs, not minding at all; “I’s three and a half this May.”
“Three and a half? You sure do talk clever for one so little.”
That’s true, she does. From the moment she learned to talk, she’s been a little chatterbox, as Uncle says. The grown ups would go from endeared to exasperated by her constant babbling. She knew what she was trying to say, but they rarely seemed to understand her, grown-ups were dumb like that. Jack seemed to know what she was saying more often, he’d share with her words that Ma and Pa didn’t seem to know, which only confused them more when she spoke. It’s only very recently that she had to be quiet, as talking made her very tired, her little chest so sore and heavy all the time.
“How old are you, Mister?”
“Take a guess.”
Abby looks from the spurs on his boots up to his sandy brown hair, then tilts her head.
“Sixty?”
“Sixty!” The man’s eyes widen, affronted; “I ain’t sixty, you little…!” he bites his lip and groans; “God damn Marstons. Your pa is older than me now and he ain’t sixty!”
Older than him now? That don’t sound right.
“You both very old! And I’m still learning my numbers!” She defends, crossing her arms.
That makes the visitor soften; “Okay, that’s fair. Math weren’t ever my biggest strength either. Writing was more my thing.” He takes seat on the step of the porch, beside her. Even sat down, he’s taller than her whole height.
Abby looks down at her toes; “I ain’t good at that either. My brother teaches me but…the letters get all jumbled around. Makes my eyes sore. I like to draw though.”
“Really? Me too.”
“I can draw better than Pa. He has this book he shows me, filled with all these pretty drawings of animals and weird places, but I know they were all done by someone else. I know ‘cause his drawings look like the ones I did when I was two!”
The man gives her a grin; “I don’t doubt it, Miss.”
Abby feels at ease enough to remove her hand from the banister, sitting back down beside the man, balancing his hat on her head. They sit in the most comfortable silence that she’s ever experienced, like she’s known this stranger for as long as she’s known Ma, Pa, Jack and Uncle. Like he’s always been there, which is funny and impossible, yet feels as true as the sun on her face. The sun that probably should have disappeared behind the horizon by now.
It's as if the whole world is playing her favourite game where they all pretend to be statues when Mama stops playing the piano. There are birds chirping, chickens clucking and cows mooing in the distance, but the sun refuses to budge from its serene position in the sky, and there isn’t another soul in sight to disturb them except for the man’s horse. Even Rufus is nowhere to be seen, though the last time she saw him was when he was curled up at the foot of her bed, giving her weak hand the occasional nudge with his wet nose.
“You ain’t told me your name, Mister.” She says after a while.
“Forgive me, sweetheart.” He sighs, “My name’s Arthur. I’m a…very old friend of your parents.”
“Arthur? Like King Arthur?”
The man doesn’t seem to like that, as he rolls his eyes; “Yeah, sure, like King Arthur. Except I’m anything but a king. I’m just…an ugly, dumb fool!”
She doesn’t think he’s ugly at all. In fact, he looks the same as she always pictured the King when Jack read those stories to her. Like a hero.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Arthur?”
“Oh, it’s just ‘Arthur’, miss. Or…if you want, you can call me ‘Uncle Arthur’, like your brother used to…But. O-only if you want to, of course.” Now he’s the one who’s gone all shy, a hint of color beneath the thick stubble on his cheeks.
“Uncle Arthur.” She gives it a try, then nods; “Okay!” That does sound right. Very right. She didn’t even know she had any Uncles…except for the one, who was more like a grandpa anyway. “Why you here, Uncle Arthur? Why ain’t I seen you before?”
He takes a sad breath; “I’ve been away for a very long time, Abby. And I’ve missed your ma and pa and brother terribly, but…Well. You’ll understand soon, why I haven’t been able to meet you till now. I’m very glad I have though…You’re the spitting image of your pa.”
“Aww, really?” Abby pouts, disappointed, wishing she looked more like Mama.
Uncle Arthur chuckles again, putting a large hand onto her back; “Now don’t worry, you’re much prettier than he ever was!”
Better than nothing, she supposes.
“Anyway…I came here ‘cause I was asked to make a delivery.” He explains.
“You here for the eggs? Or the milk? You ain’t here for Jack, are you? I asked baby Jesus to swap him for a sister instead but I weren’t serious-.”
“No, no, I ain’t here for them, sweet girl.” He rubs at her back; “…I’m here for you.”
A chill runs through her.
“Me…?”
Arthur nods, solemn, fingers clasping securely around her shoulder; “Your daddy…He asked me if I could come get you…and take you some place real nice, somewhere you’re gonna be very happy.”
She believes him. She trusts him.
But…
“Don’t they want me anymore?”
His mouth gapes like a fish, it would be funny if she wasn’t so ready to cry; “I…’Course they want you, sweetheart, they…They love you more than anything in this world!”
Abby sniffs, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, salt-water filling her eyes.
“I know they been real sad lately…” She tells him, voice breaking; “Mama’s so tired, I haven’t seen her sleep, she always sitting next to my bed. And Pa…He got so mad when the doctor came to visit me, I ain’t ever seen him that angry before. I didn’t understand what they were saying. Mama was crying, then so was Jack, even the dog started…”
“…But not you?”
She shakes her head; “I wanna cry, sometimes, but I can’t. Mama said I’m the same as Daddy. He don’t like to cry either. We both have…’hot heads’, she says. I saw Daddy cry once though, when I woke up the other night, he was on his knees next to my bed. I think he was talking to Jesus, but I was too tired to listen…”
Arthur holds her a little closer into his side.
“You haven’t been feeling very well, have you Abby?” He asks, carefully.
She shakes her head. It had been so easy to forget. Forget the burning pain in her lungs. Forget the icy shivers wracking her tiny body. Forget the black shadows dancing on her walls as the fevers got worse. Forget how stiff and heavy her arms and legs felt.
“I’m all better now. See? I don’t cough anymore! I can breathe like I used to!” she takes a great theatrical inhale and exhale to demonstrate; “It feels really good!”
“I know, sweetheart.” Arthur smiles; “I remember…”
It hits her then. The truth. Without even needing the concept fully explained to her, she knows exactly what’s happened. The reason she feels so much ‘better’. The reason she’s out here all alone. The reason the world is playing musical statues.
The reason her Uncle Arthur has come to get her.
She takes a glance back at the house. The closed front door. The drawn curtains.
“…Can’t I say goodbye?”
Arthur gives her a squeeze; “You can, but…You can’t see them right now. It’s…a bit complicated, how it all works, but…”
“Okay,” she accepts, feeling the lump in her throat.
He pulls her close and she buries her face in his jacket, one little hand reaching around his middle. The tears fall now. Not big, loud sobs, she’s not a baby. She’s strong and brave like Mama and Aunt Sadie, who she’s never met but Jack tells her about. Of all the characters he’s introduced her to and let into her dreams, she’s her favorite.
Uncle Arthur’s thumb rubs circles into her arm; “We can sit here for as long as you want. And then, whenever you’re ready, we’ll go for a ride. Okay, darlin’?”
Abby nods, the tiniest whimper squeaking from her lips.
She doesn’t need long. There’s no need for her to pack. No tiny suitcase to stuff full of her clothes and pencils and crochet animals. Instinct tells her that, where they’re going, everything she wants will already be there waiting. Besides, she can come back and visit later, if she wants, as Arthur tells her. He says that he’s come to check in on them from time to time, even when she was born and long before then. It’s hard, he says, to be there and see them all, but not be seen back…But he did it. Many, many times. She thinks she will too.
For now though, Morgan Abigail Marston detaches herself from her uncles side once the tears have all dried. She picks herself up and brushes herself down, fingers smoothing against her dirty nightdress.
“Uhh…You sure you don’t wanna put on some clothes? Or shoes?”
Abby shrugs, “Nah, I’m good.”
Arthur clicks his tongue; “’Course you are. You’re your pa’s daughter, all right.”
He offers her his hand and she takes it, letting it swallow hers up. He leads her off the steps and towards his horse, who pads at the ground with her hoof.
“Miss. Abby, meet Boadicea. Boadicea, meet Miss. Abby Marston.” Arthur introduces them, patting Abby’s back; “You wanna pet her?”
She nods. Oh, yes! She eases closer, reaching her hand out as the mare dips her head for the child to stroke her mane. Her fingers run through the silky smooth locks of hair, just as soft as she imagined.
“I think she likes you, kid. She must think you’re special.”
Abby glances around the ranch.
“…Can’t I ride my pony?” She was getting so good before she got sick. Not quite ready to ride without still being tethered to Rachel and Daddy, but close.
“Aww, I’m sorry, Miss. Like Jack and your folks, I’m afraid she’s gotta stay here…”
“Oh…okay.” She has to accept that too.
There’s a soft neighing sound in the distance. Is that her pony, Belle, calling for her? Does she know that she’s going away?
Arthur scoops her up off the ground, holding her like she weighs less than a handful of straw.
“Now don’t you worry. There’s plenty of ponies for you to ride where we’re going…and more. You got a bunch of other aunts and uncles all excited to meet you…I’ll warn you now, your grandpa Hosea might squash you with all the hugs he’s got…And my little boy, Isaac, he’s around your age and can’t wait to play with you. Anything you want, anything you can imagine, it’ll be yours. And then one day…won’t even feel that long to wait…your ma and pa will come find us. Even Jack, eventually…But for now, you okay to ride on Boadicea with me? I know she’s bigger than you’re used to, but…You’ll always be safe with me. I promise.”
She nods. Once again, there’s not a flicker of doubt in his words.
She lets him place her at the front of his saddle. Her legs are far too shorts to reach any stirrups but she holds onto the leather seat as Arthur mounts up, swinging his leg over and then wrapping one arm tight around her front, his other taking the reins.
“That feel all right?” He checks with her, letting her shift so she’s comfy.
“Mmm hmm,” she nods, “…I feel so tall!”
“Yeah, you are. Tallest lady in America, you are, Abby Marston.” He teases, fixing his hat on her before it can fall off; “…You ready to go?”
She takes another look at the house. Her home. Her…life.
“…Bye Mama. Bye Pa. Bye Jackie…Look after them for me…And Rufus, look after Jack…” she whispers to the house. Then she takes a deep breath; “…Okay. I’m ready, Uncle Arthur.”
A click of his tongue, a gentle tug on the reins.
“As you wish, my lady. Let’s take you home.”