Chapter Text
The sun was setting over a quiet, peaceful ranch in west Elizabeth, and Abigail sat on the porch, doing the laundry. Her hands were quick, learned, after doing it so many years in the gang, now doing it for her family. It would be a bold-faced lie if she said that she hadn’t missed the girls whom she would sit and gossip with, paying little attention to the task at hand yet still, somehow, getting it done. John had told her about coming across Mary-Beth and Tilly in his adventures, which brought her at least a little peace of mind. Her and Tilly had started writing to each other, or, Tilly wrote to her, Jack read the letter to her, and helped her write something back if John wasn’t around to help. It was a nice change of pace, and Abigail was learning to read now, little by little, watching curiously over young Jack’s shoulder as he read to her some afternoons.
The woman was pulled out of her thoughts at the sound of… Groaning? As well as what seemed to be quiet, garbled calls for help. She stood, brushing off her dress and looking around, walking quickly to the fence where she heard the noise coming from. The walk broke into a slow run once she found the source of the horrible noises; A young man, seemingly mauled by a cougar, or perhaps a bear. His eyes looked glossed over under his cracked and askew glasses, blood soaked into his hair and covering most of his skin. She dared not look too long at the gashes scattered across his body too long, opting instead to crouch down and slowly lift him to his feet, with some struggle. She needn’t ask any questions to this man seemingly on death’s door, not wasting any time as she walked him to the house. Of course, all the questions she wanted to ask him were swimming around in her head as she held on to this blood-covered man, but told herself to save it for later, once she was sure he wasn’t dead.
”Uncle!” Abigail called out, pushing the front door open to a bewildered-looking Jack.
”Oh, Jack. Go and fetch a bucket of water from the pump. And bring it to the washing room, please.” She said quickly. She led the man into said room, sitting him down in a chair by the bath as he groaned, slumping over. A sight Abigail was all too familiar with, much to her dismay. Her heart ached as the scene reminded her of when Arthur and Javier brought her dear John back to Colter, torn to bits by those wolves.
Wiping her already blood-covered hands on her skirt, Abigail sighed, removing the man’s hat and bag, before unbuttoning his shirt and discarding it on the floor, for now. She could worry about the mess later.
Jack entered not a moment later with a bucket of water, setting it down by his feet. “Here, ma. Is… Is he going to be alright? Where did he come from?” He asked, voice shaking. Abigail waved him away, picking up a rag and dipping it in the water, getting to cleaning the stranger’s wounds. “Now’s not the time, Jack. Go and stock the fireplace, I’ll be out once I'm done wrapping this poor man up.”
The boy nodded, quickly walking away as if relieved that he didn't need to look at the mangled man anymore. Abigail watched him leave with a worried gaze, before turning back to the wounds she was tending to. Just like how she was doing laundry earlier, her hands were quick, learned. It’s been years since she last had to deal with wounds this severe, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. The man let a soft groan slip as she picked pebbles and dirt from his wounds, and she responded with soft, whispered words of encouragement, holding him down as he writhed. As much as it made her brow furrow, she was glad he was showing signs of life, actually reacting instead of, well… Abigail shook her head as if trying to shoo away the thoughts of a dead man in her house, wringing out the rag before dipping it once more in the nearby water bucket. He was going to be okay, she was sure of it.
Dabbing at the cuts, gouges, and scrapes made the man peer down at her with tear-filled eyes, reaching a hand up and rubbing his face. “Hurts..” He whispered, and Abigail cooed, reaching up and wiping away his tears before they could roll down his cheeks. He must be terrified, after what happened to him. That far-off look in his eyes said it all. “You’re alright, Mister. Just let me clean you up and I'll get you cozied up by the fire in no time.” She mumbled, walking over to the nearby cabinet to grab the bandages and ointments, as well as the needle and thread. Sewing a man up wasn’t something that Abigail enjoyed, though it was necessary.
Abigail stitched up a particularly bad cut on the man’s cheek, right along his cheekbone. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, not noticing the way the man was looking up at her, like she was some kind of angel. In a way, to him, she was. Having saved his life, now stitching him back together like a torn blanket.
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With the man’s wounds taken care of and bandaged, she led him out to the living room, sitting him down on the couch and getting him to lay down. She had given him some of John’s clothes that he didn’t wear often, although they were a bit tight on him. The stranger had insisted on getting changed himself, which Abigail hardly argued with. She made a mental note to wash and mend the man’s dirtied and torn clothes later.
Jack sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, peering back curiously. Abigail just gave him a knowing look, and he turned back around, looking into the fire with a yawn. She quietly suggested that Jack headed to bed, and he nodded, getting up and padding off to his room without any argument. She could tell he was tired just by that, usually getting at least a little pushback from her son.
It was nearing midnight now, as Abigail draped a blanket over the man fast asleep on the couch. She had cleaned his glasses and set them on the table next to him, though was quite displeased with the crack on one of the lenses. At the very least, they were still intact.
Just as she stood to head off to her room and change out of her bloodied clothes, she heard a door open. “Jack, go back to bed..” She said with a sigh, though turned around to see John walking in, rubbing his tired eyes. It’s been a few days since she last saw him, and she longed to reach up and comb her fingers through his hair, asking him about his adventures while they cuddled up on the couch… But he just gave her a confused look, looking down at the blood stains on her dress, then over at the sleeping man on the couch.
“Uh…” John rasped in that sandpaper voice of his, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “He’s not… dead, is he?”
Abigail just laughed, shaking her head. “No, no, that’d make me a hypocrite, wouldn’t it? I found him at the fence-line… He must’ve been attacked by that cougar that lives nearby. Gave him some of your clothes to cover himself, if that’s alright.”
John scratched his cheek, giving a hum of acknowledgment. The man on the couch seemed to have been woken by the two talking, sitting up and trying not to groan in pain as he did. Likely delirious from the blood loss, he began panicking, trying to get up off of the couch. Abigail noticed and rushed over, sitting him back down. “Hey, calm down. You’re okay, Mister.” She half-whispered, trying to calm him down. He responded with a frown, probably looking around for his belongings. “Miss, I haven’t got any money, I can’t pay you back for nothing.. I- I best get out of here-“ He went to stand again, but was met with a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“You’re badly hurt. Even I can tell.” John grumbled. “Sit.” It didn’t take much for the man to settle back down after that, clearing his throat as he pulled the blanket around himself, tensing up a bit. “D’you think I could work on this ranch of yours? Ya dont gotta pay me, I just… Need a place to stay.” He looked up at the couple, and they looked at each other.
”I dunno..” John mumbled, which earned him a look from his wife. “John, now that Charles is gone, well.. Another set of hands would be nice. It’s not like anyone else is offering to work here.” Abigail retorted, hands on her hips. John sighed deeply, Abigail really was the one in charge in this house, not him. He couldn’t argue. Instead, he just peered down at the stranger sitting on his couch, wearing his clothes, with his blanket wrapped around him.
“What’s your name, feller?” He asked, thumbs hitched on his belt, and chest puffed out like some proud bird. Abigail immediately recognized it as John trying to appear more intimidating to the other, which made her have to hold back a smile. What a man she had married.
The man turned around best he could with the bandages wrapped around his neck, chest, and arms restricting his movement. “Oh, um, Raymond, sir. Raymond Douglas.” He said quietly, blinking up at John. Raymond reached for his squared glasses and put them on, Abigail looking on curiously. Since his hair was drying after Abigail washed the blood out of it, she had noticed that there was a curl to it. She’d get the man to take a proper bath tomorrow, once he was well rested.
“Well,” John hummed, “I’m turning in.” He leaned over to Abigail to give her a soft peck on the lips, glancing back at Raymond before heading off to bed. Abigail watched him walk off, glad he was back home so she could press up against him and leech off his warmth like she always did. With a slight smile on her face at the thought, she turned towards Raymond, straightening out the blanket a bit. “Well then, Mister Douglas, holler if you need anything, alright? I’ll just be in the next room over.” She said gently, taking the glasses off the man’s face and setting them down on the table. Raymond smiled the best he could with his hurting face, nodding in thanks. “With all due respect ma’am, I won't be hollerin’ in a house that ain’t mine.” The response made Abigail chuckle, and shake her head. “Get some rest, now. I’ll feed you in the morning.”
Raymond just nodded, and she could feel his eyes on her as she walked to her room. It took her a while to change into her nightclothes, but once she did she was happily cuddled up next to her husband, gently rubbing her hand over his stubbly cheek. “Goodnight.” She whispered. “I love you.”