Chapter Text
John Marston was dead, and the universe didn’t have much to say about it.
The Valentine station rattled with life, not as sleepy as it once was. A pair of songbirds whistled from their home on top of the station. A mother and her child waited patiently for the next train.
Sadie stared harshly at the letter in her hands, as if doing so would make the contents any more palatable to read. Though the writing was erratic and bordered on chicken scratch, she could make out the gist of it; mentions of Beecher’s Hope and John and death and lastly, kindest regards, Abigail Marston.
“Jesus.” Sadie cursed under her breath, just loud enough to alert her horse. In all the years she had lived, all the people she had the pleasure to meet, kill and maim, she had never met a man more foolish than John Marston. Cursing the dead wasn’t exactly a sin she was worried about. John had a second chance at an honest life, with a lovely woman and a bright son, and he had gone and thrown it all away for foolishness, but she supposed she had been just as much at fault.
She mounted her horse and hurried off toward Beecher’s Hope.
Sadie had hardly removed her leg from the stirrup when Abigail came running down the steps of the ranch house and into her arms. The other woman looked like a mess. Sadie understood too well as she fought to keep her mind from reaching back to those painful first weeks with the Van Der Linde’s, when she had little to live for and not a possession left to her name. Her ring finger felt heavy. She brushed a calloused hand over Abigail’s disheveled hair.
“It’ll be okay, darlin’.” She knew it wouldn’t. Abigail had been one of the first people to extend kindness and warmth to her after Jake’s death, and if she couldn’t at least extend that much then who was she to call herself Abigail’s friend? She pulled back a few inches to look at the other woman's face; blotchy, almost gaunt, unlike the lively freckled face she was familiar with. “Let’s get you inside.”
Despite Abigail’s distress, she still found a moment to lay out a bedroll for Sadie, apologizing for the lack of an extra bed. Sadie didn’t mind, she had slept in considerably worse conditions alongside far worse people. Sadie made sure the house was secure before she lay down.
As she lay, staring at the dark ceiling above, she decided that she had seen enough widowed women in this world for one lifetime.
“Dutch is dead.” Abigail started.
“Serves him right, I suppose.” The words tumbled from her mouth before she could trap them.
“Mrs. Adler!“ Despite the shock in her voice, Abigail’s face conveyed something entirely different—sorrow, regret, hatred. Too many ugly things at once. “John—“ her voice trembled, but she continued, “that fool—went after him.”
Sadie rubbed a hand down her face, debating whether or not to say something about that. Abigail spoke once again. “Pinkertons. It was them. John—he—they’ve ruined everything!” She began to cry once again, fat round tears pooling at her chin. Sadie studied the floor. She was right. Sadie remembered the hatred she’d held, and still held for the O'Driscolls, even though they had pretty much been wiped out by her hand. The Pinkertons had caused so much grief—Lenny and Hosea, Arthur, hell, Abigail herself had almost been killed. And now, John and Uncle, hunted down like dogs in the dirt.
“He’s gone, and there’s no changing that, but… just don’t go blaming yourself. John was, well, you know how he was—more stubborn than a mule.” Abigail snorted through the tears, the closest thing Sadie had seen to a laugh thus far. “Just don’t be like me.”
Abigail’s lips pursed into a thin line. Her hands clenched her dress tightly. Anger, rage, contempt, all those things Sadie still held within her, but they had softened over the years. Still, she felt something hot toward herself the second the words left her mouth. If someone had told her what to do with her grief all those years ago, she probably would have strangled them to death.
“I understand.” Abigail said, much to Sadie’s surprise. “I mean, I’m tryin’ to, for Jack.” Sadie stared at her, the thin lipped expression gone from Abigail’s face, and as she looked at her, she saw clearly for the first time in a long time.