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Something is wrong with Arthur.
John has been watching the older man- his brother, from afar. Arthur has been slower than usual. And when he is approached about it, he just blames it on his ‘old age.’
But that’s not it.
John knows it’s not.
Arthur hasn’t been sleeping. He’s been either caught reading by lantern light at his tent or stoically sitting guard by the dying campfire.
He hasn’t been eating.
And the coughing.
God, the coughing.
It’s one of the most painful things that John has ever heard. It sounds like Arthur’s lungs are trying to strangle him from the inside.
John knows that everybody has heard it. There is no way that they couldn’t have. But nobody dares to say a thing.
It’s like a guillotine that permanently hangs over the entire camp.
And if something happens to Arthur?
The blade would surely fall across all their necks.
Because this gang wouldn’t last much longer without him.
Sure, Dutch is the ‘leader.’
But Arthur?
He is the heart, soul, and spirit of this rag tag group.
Hell, John knows for a fact that if they were given a choice- they’d all leave and follow Arthur in a heartbeat.
And a small part of him wishes that Arthur would leave. Dutch’s mind and behavior is only getting worse.
Arthur has sacrificed enough.
He’s thought of everybody but himself since he was fourteen years old. He’d missed out on valuable time with his child. He has thrown away so many chances at real true love with Mary.
All of that for them.
John wishes that Arthur would be selfish.
Just once.
One time.
That’s all he’s asking for.
But as John watches the man painfully lower himself into a chair across the fire- he knows that will never happen.
“You’re broody tonight, Marston.” Tilly says, suddenly appearing at his side and taking a seat. “You alright?”
“I’m fine.” John huffs, still watching Arthur through the flickering flames.
“Yeah, right.” Tilly sighs and John can feel her eyes boring a hole into him. “I know you’ve noticed.”
“Noticed what?”
Tilly shoves at his shoulder, almost sending him completely to the ground from his seat. “You’re not as dumb as you like to portray yourself. You know what I’m talking about.”
John finally turns his gaze from Arthur to look at her. “...he’s sick, isn’t he?”
“I think so. I’ve tried talking to him to see if he would say anything- but he just danced around it.”
“Sounds like him.” John laughs, running a hand down his face. “I wish Hosea was here.”
“Me too. He would definitely be able to see through all his bullshit.”
“Do you think Dutch has noticed?”
Tilly shrugs, looking at Dutch’s tent in the distance. “He has. You know there is no way he couldn’t. But I don’t think he cares. Not in this state anyway.” She falls silent for a moment before speaking again. “The Dutch that took the three of us in when we were kids is gone. I don’t even recognize him anymore.”
“Neither do I.” John reaches into his pocket and slips out a cigarette. He doesn’t light it quite yet, instead opting to let it dangle from his mouth. “This is gonna be bad.”
“I know.”
“Are you ready to leave? In case this all goes to shit?”
“I am.”
“Good.”
John has the urge to do the same. He had no problems just picking up and taking off when he was younger.
But he was stupid then.
He left his woman and child behind without a second thought.
Now, though?
He would pack up Abigail and Jack and leave tomorrow. He would give her that life that she keeps rambling on about.
But he won’t leave Arthur.
Because he knows for sure that Arthur would never leave him.