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Jack was just trying to impress his father, but like always it ended up going south. It was hard knowing who he was supposed to be when his mother was always looking ahead, hoping for something better, and his father was stuck in the past, mourning for who he once was. Jack didn’t want to be either of them. He just wanted to be someone they could be proud of.
That was why he had left particularly early with Rufus to sneak out before his parents had woken up. He was sure today would be the day he would go off hunting on his own and show his Pa the skills he had been practicing.
The woods were quiet that morning, the kind of quiet that made every snapped twig feel louder than it should. Jack tracked a deer for a while, heart pounding with every careful step. He could already imagine it- bringing it home, his father nodding in approval, maybe even a “good job, son.” That alone made him even more anxious to prove himself.
Rufus growled, which startled the boy. He knelt down to comfort his four-legged companion when the lab ran off out of Jack’s sight. He found it odd, but that is when he should have realized luck was not on his side today.
The motion caused the deer to bolt before Jack even had time to react, disappearing into the brush. Jack cursed under his breath, scanning the trees for Rufus or the deer. That’s when he noticed how quiet everything had become. Jack hissed in frustration, unsure of which animal to follow. This was all going so wrong. He walked around a little, noticing how the forest seemed to stay still. The birds from earlier even stopped singing their little songs.
Something was wrong, but before Jack could even process what, a heavy rustle came from behind him. The hair on his body stood on edge as he turned around. The boy froze on the spot. In front of him stood a bear taller than anything he had ever seen, its dark eyes locked onto him. For a second, neither of them moved. Then it charged.
Jack ran. Branches tore at his clothes, roots attempted to catch on his boots, and his lungs burned as he pushed himself forward. He could hear it behind him- fast, too fast. A roar split through the trees, so loud it rattled in his chest. His foot caught on a branch and he stumbled, hitting the ground hard. His world spun, and when he looked up he could see the bear was almost on him.
He squinted his eyes shut, preparing for the end of his short miserable life when he heard a gunshot ring out.
The bear jerked, snarling, before another shot followed- louder, closer. It staggered, collapsing just yards away from Jack. The forest fell silent again, except for Jack’s ragged breathing.
“Jack!” Oh god, it was his father.
John Marston dropped to his knees beside him, grabbing his shoulders, checking him over with urgent hands. “What the hell were you thinking?” His father snapped, voice sharp with anger.
Jack couldn’t answer. He just stared, his chest still heaving, the image of the bear burned into his mind.
Rufus appeared out of seemingly nowhere and ran over to lick at Jack’s face, making Jack come to his senses.
“I told you not to go out on your own,” John continued, his grip tightening. “You could’ve been killed!”
“I just wanted to-” Jack’s voice broke. “I wanted to prove I could do it.”
John’s expression flickered. For a moment, something softer broke through-fear, maybe-but it hardened just as quickly.
“This ain’t a game, boy,” he said. “You don’t prove anything by getting yourself killed.”
Jack swallowed, his hands curling into fists. “You do it.”
“That’s different.”
“It’s not!” Jack shot back, anger rising now that the fear was fading. “You go out there all the time. You hunt, you fight, you- you act like it’s nothing. But when I do it, suddenly I’m stupid?”
John opened his mouth, then stopped.
Jack pushed himself to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes with shaking hands. “I just wanted you to see me,” he muttered.
For once, John didn’t have a quick answer.
The walk home was quiet.
He knew he could not hide in his bedroom forever, but that did not stop his determination. Distractions barely helped, even now he could not focus on his favorite pastime.
Reading was hard when the words on the pages just turned into one big blur as Jack’s mind raced. He messed up. Not only that, but he really messed up this time. He couldn’t forget the look on his father’s face. Anger. Disappointment. Disgust. He was sure John already didn’t love him, but this probably just cemented the fact.
His whole body tensed when he heard his father’s loud footsteps echo throughout the house. He had thought the man would be out a little longer, but the jingle of spurs proved otherwise as they accompanied each heavy stomp. The noise got louder as John approached Jack’s door. The boy hid his face in his book, gripping its cover with white knuckles. The door flew open, his father in the frame with anger etched into his face.
“You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” John shouted. “Sneakin’ out like that- what were you thinkin’?”
Jack doesn’t remember a time when he had seen his Pa so angry. The man has been in near-death scenarios, and arguments, but they were usually accompanied by annoyance or disdain rather than actual anger. The boy stood, dropping his book, even though it was the only thing between him and his dad’s fury. “I-I’m sorry Pa. I didn’t mean to.”
“Sorry, don't fix that!”
Neither of them heard the boy’s mother approach over the argument, but she was there in an instant, glaring at her husband with what could only be described as a mother’s wrath, “leave the boy alone! You know he didn’t mean to get in harm's way!”
“Oh, stay out of it Abigail! He needs to learn that his consequences have actions!” Jack watched with intensity as the man unbuckled his belt before slipping it out of his loops. He bit his lip, his father had never punished him like this before.
His mother was watching as well, “Yeah? What are you gonna do then? Hit him?”
“If that’s what it takes, yes!”
Jack backed up against his wall, “Please Pa, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! You don’t need to do this! I learned my lesson, honest!” He pleaded, his voice cracking.
John raised the belt and Abigail rushed to put herself between them. “Over my dead body, Marston,” She snapped, fire in her eyes. “Guess you learned one thing about being a father from your own daddy, huh?”
John flinched. He wasn’t a great father, but he wasn’t his father. Was he? He looked at the strap of leather in his hands and remembered all the welts he got from his dad. Shit.
“Listen, I-” His tone was softer, the muscles of his face more relaxed as he dropped the belt and took a step towards Jack.
Abigail stopped him, “no John, you’ve done enough. Come on Jack, let’s go out, just you and me.” She motioned for the boy to join her. “He almost died, John!” She spat over her shoulder as the two brushed past John, and he didn’t move until he heard the front door shut. He was such an idiot. He didn’t think he could feel worse about the situation until he left the boy’s room and saw Uncle at the dining room table.
The older man opened his mouth to say something before John held a hand up, “Don’t.”
“Well fine. Since you seem to be handling everything so well yourself,” came his sassy reply.
Jack had been avoiding John for days. Not that the man blamed him. The boy barely ate just so he didn’t have to sit at the same table. He did all his chores without being asked, so John wouldn’t approach him. Even in the small moments when the two met or John did talk to him, the boy would give short and curt responses. His eyes would refuse to meet his father's.
John has been avoiding him too. He doesn’t have the words or actions to really apologize for that day.
The tension in the house is making everyone on edge. John even noticed Uncle doing more chores than usual.
His relationship with Abigail isn’t doing much better. They haven’t really talked since that night, and John didn’t need to get a hint to know he wasn’t welcomed in the bed.
The reds and yellows of the fire stick out against the blue hues of the night. It catches John's attention from his workbench. He looks out the window and sees Abigail and Jack by the fire. They are talking, but he can only make out mumbles. Not that he’s in a place to eavesdrop anyway.
He decides to get over the anxiety and dread in his stomach by putting his saw down and joining them.
They tense as they see him, and John loses some of his nerve, his gait shortening.
A couple of seconds after he sits, Jack leaves, and John can’t help but sigh out loud.
“I know I really messed up. I wasn’t fair to him, and I’m glad you were there to stop me.”
Abigail was on defense the moment she saw her husband, but the tension leaves her, and she is reminded that this isn’t the same John Marston from almost a decade ago. In some aspects, he was still the idiot she knew and loved - even back then, but he has grown in ways she couldn’t have imagined.
She gave him a light smile, “You did, but it’s still fixable.” She patted the spot next to her on the log, and John moved. Abigail grabbed his hand and comfortingly rubbed her thumb over the back of it.
“He hates me. I don’t blame him… but it- uh- hurts.” He chokes out.
“You’re wrong,” His wife says, plain and simple. “You scared him.”
“I was scared.“
“I know that. But he doesn’t,” Abigail explains. “He thinks you’re disappointed in him.”
John shook his head, “well, that could never be true.”
“I know… but he’s always been hard on himself. I think he was always looking for you to prove him right, and that night you gave him what he needed.”
“Shit. He deserves a better father.”
“Well, unless you see one, you had best step up to the plate.”
John rubbed the back of his neck, “I know. I know. I just don’t know how to approach him.”
Abigail thought for a moment. John could see her face scrunch as she tried to come up with a plan. Despite the gravity of their conversation, a part of him couldn’t help but dedicate a thought to how cute it was.
She smiled, unclasping from his hand to clap hers together, “I got it! How about you take Jack out camping for a few days?”
John scoffed, “And leave you here at the ranch with just Uncle?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine. Besides, not much work here, not like back in camp in the old days,” she teased.
“Very funny, Mrs. Marston, though, I suppose you're right.”
“Just take Jack out. Maybe you can make yourself useful and bring back some meat,” she smiled, “If anything does happen it will be because I’ve finally had enough of Uncle and did something about it.”
“Promise?”
She nudged him, laughing with him, before standing up and straightening her skirt. “Well, I best be off to bed.”
John stood as well, “Room for one more?” He tried to give her his best puppy dog face that a man in his mid-thirties could.
She tried to stifle a giggle at his pathetic display before putting a finger to her lips, “Hmm… I guess the bed could fit two people. Even if one of them is a big idiot.”
They smiled at each other before John poured water on the fire and joined his wife in their room.
John wakes up feeling good for once. He turns to see Abigail’s sleeping form next to him. He props himself up to give her a kiss on the cheek, and she stirs. “Morning,” she slurs, her voice full of sleep.
“Mornin’ sweetheart. I’ll make us some coffee.”
Her eyes were still closed, “Thank you.”
John set the percolator on the stove top. He could feel the warmth from the fire inside radiating to his hands. He removed the top to put in some ground coffee.
Jack entered the kitchen, spotting his father. He quickly turned on his heel, hoping the older man hadn’t noticed him.
“Jack.” The boy froze before slowly turning to face John.
“Yes, sir?”
John looked down and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “I was hoping you might want to come camping with me.”
Silence fell over them. The only sound heard in the house was the water starting to work up a boil in the metal pot. A twinge of anxiety pulled in the older man’s gut.
“Uh… I don’t know.”
“Listen. I know the last couple of days haven’t been the easiest,” Jack narrowed his eyes as his father spoke, “But I want to make it up to you.”
The boy felt his face get warm with his anger, “You’re always making it up to me! Why can’t you just not mess up in the first place?”
The water was at a full boil now. Jack could hear it as his father stayed silent, searching for the right words.
Jack didn’t give him the chance, “And I bet Ma is the one to give you the idea, huh?” Jack paced around the kitchen, talking with his hands, “Heaven forbid you actually think about spending time with me yourself.”
John's eyes were wide, he has never seen Jack so angry, “Now that ain’t fair. It’s not like that.”
Jack grit his teeth, “Then how is it?”
John didn’t have an answer, and Jack didn’t grace him with any more words. The teen simply nodded with a grunt and left. He heard the front door slam shut. The good feeling he had this morning was gone.
The sun was setting, and Jack hadn’t stepped foot in the house all day. He didn’t even bother showing up for dinner at all. John was getting antsy, but Abigail tried her best to soothe him.
They were both sitting in the living room. John rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands, “Dammit! I just keep making things worse!”
“It will be okay. I’ll talk to him.”
He took himself outside to sit with Uncle, leaving Abigail to wait for the boy. He wanted to make sure he gave them their space.
“Well, lookie here, John Marston is gracing me with his presence!” The older man exclaimed as John joined him by taking a seat in front of the campfire.
“Aw, quiet old man. Don’t we see enough of each other as is?”
Uncle just chuckled and took a swig of his beer. “Still having trouble in paradise?”
John let out a long sigh, “Isn’t there always?” Uncle passed the younger man a beer, which he happily accepted. He finished it in one go before dropping the glass next to him. Silence passed between them for a few moments, “Uncle. You’ve known me for a long time.”
“Longer than I’d like.”
John smiled at his comment before continuing, “I’ve changed. Haven’t I?”
Uncle looks into the sky, taking in the last of the sunset before the night has fully claimed it. “Kid, you were always stupid. Maybe not Bill Williamson stupid, but sometimes you did give him a run for his money.”
John chuckled, grabbing another beer.
“I think the fact that you are even asking me, tells you everything you need to know. You think little Johnny Marston would have cared about being better? You think he would be trying to fix his relationship with his son? No, that asshole would have hightailed it out of here. Probably would have drunk or slept his problems away and regretted it later.”
John raises his beer, “I’m halfway there.”
Uncle shakes his head with a smile, “You know what I mean, boy.”
“I do,” he asks another swig. “Thanks, old man. I know we give each other shit, but I’m happy you’re here with us.”
“I’ll remember that John, and I’ll never let you forget.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” John rolls his eyes, “Aren’t you like a hundred? Ain’t you senile yet?”
Uncle laughs, “I’ll forget to hold my shit and piss before I forget that.”
“Lucky me.”
Abigail was already asleep by the time John decided to go to bed. He assumed Jack was inside, hoping their conversation went well. He stripped off all his layers until he was in his union suit and tried his best to slip into bed without waking his wife. The man laid down, and she rolled over to face him, her hands by her face, “Good night darlin’.”
John grabbed one of her hands and held it lovingly, “Good night, Abigail.”
John woke up and started with his chores. Abigail has advised him to let Jack come to him first, so he decided to keep himself busy. He was chopping wood when he saw his son approaching, his loyal dog by his side.
“Hey.”
John put the ax down, “Hey, son.”
Jack kicked at the dirt, refusing to meet his father’s gaze, “I have decided to go camping with you.” It came out soft and rushed.
John smiled, “That’s great.”
“But I’m only doing it for Ma,” Jack reflected John’s own eyes at him, still full of the vinegar they had yesterday morning.
The corners of his lips turned downwards as he nodded and cleared his throat, “Tomorrow, okay?”
“If that’s what you want.”
John re-checked everything he had packed for the fifth time. Normally, he wouldn’t even bother checking a second time, but this trip had to go perfectly. As much as people liked to tell him he was “lucky” he had recently found himself as anything but.
Jack waited for his father, leaning against the wall with a book in his face. Occasionally, he would glance up to see the man fastening things to his horse.
John finished, giving his mare a good pat before calling over to Jack.
They would usually take two horses, but the only horses they had at the moment belonged to his father and Uncle, and Uncle’s horse was prone to bite.
The two mounted John’s horse as Abigail and Uncle waved at them.
“Take care darlin’! Don’t kill uncle… yet.”
“I heard that!”
John gave the older man a smirk, turning his horse around to face the entrance of his ranch before he shouted, “You were supposed to,” as he nudged his horse into a trot and the pair left Beecher's hope behind them.
The ride was quiet. Jack held onto his father’s waist for support. He didn’t think much when his father spurred the horse to a gallop, but suddenly he felt his stomach sink as his butt lifted off the horse's back and his thighs lost their grip. He lurched forward and gripped the older man tight. His cheeks felt warm as he was embarrassed by his childishness. He was sure his father was thinking something negative of him but was relieved when the man said nothing.
He looked down to distract himself, watching the nag work hard under his father’s guidance. Jack hadn’t really taken time to see his father’s horse up close. She wasn’t very fast or strong, and she had scars littering her body, displaying years of abuse he knew his father hadn’t done. At least he had hoped not.
“Why do you ride this horse? Aren’t there better ones?”
“I guess there are always better horses than the one you got,” John’s voice was raised, so his son could hear it before the wind took it away, “but Soot is special.”
“Soot?” he asked in disbelief.
The man gave a chuckle at his own expense, “You know I ain’t good at naming things.”
“Where did you get her anyhow? Looks like whoever had her before did quite the number to her.”
“I actually saved her from the Murfree Brood. I saw how bad she looked, and I couldn’t leave her there. She reminds me of myself. Ugly scars and all.”
It was nice to hear John talk about how special his horse was to him. He was never one to be soft in front of others. Jack kept one arm firmly around his father, leaning forward into his dad’s back to free up an arm without falling off. He ran a hand over her flank. It was smooth until his fingers touched the roughness of her scar tissue and missing fur. He couldn’t help feeling sad for her. She must have been a beautiful horse once.
Jack took in the scenery that passed by. Even though he has lived in many states and seen many different landscapes, he had to admit West Elizabeth had its own type of charm. The plains were pretty, and they made it easy to see the mountains and hills in the distance. It was mostly undisturbed earth. Occasionally, Jack would see a campfire here or there to remind him that at the end of the day mankind would never be too far away.
“Woah!” Suddenly, John pulled on the reins and forced Soot to stop. The mare let out a whinny of annoyance but complied. Jack slammed into his father’s back, hurting his nose. He rubbed it as he peered over his father’s shoulder. A herd of Elk was in the middle of the road. They stopped to stare at them before darting off. John nudged Soot back into a trot, “sorry about that son, you alright?”
“Of course, I’m not a baby,” Jack wasn’t sure why it came out so defensive.
“Just… wanted to make sure.”
Jack wanted to change the topic before he said something he would regret, “so where are we even going anyway?”
“Thought we could camp near Quakers Cove. Good wildlife, plants, and there are people there if we need anything we forgot.”
Jack just makes a grunt of acknowledgement.
“You know, I am excited to spend some quality time with you. It’s been too long since it's been just you and me.”
Jack grits his teeth, taking a moment to collect his anger, “I wish that was true. We both know you’re only doing this for Ma.”
John sighs, “I’m not very good at this.”
Jack almost scoffed before cheekily asking, “At riding. Or camping?”
“At talking. With you.”
“Do you wish I was more like you?” It came out softer than the boy would have liked.
“Like me? No,” John quickly answered before mulling it over, “but…” he starts but then clears his throat, regretting ever having that thought pop into his head, “Let’s keep going.”
That “but” was going to plague Jack for a while. His mind filled in the blank his father left and none of the thoughts were kind.
Neither sparked up a conversation for the rest of the ride, and both were thankful. Occasionally another rider would pass, and the two would utter a greeting, but other than that the only sounds heard were Soot's feet and nature’s songs of summer.
Quakers Cove was lively by the time they arrived. People were on the dock, fishing out onto the lake, while several boats passed by. Some of them carried more fishermen looking for better chances in deeper waters, while others were being rowed by people trying to reach far-off destinations. Jack had never seen so many people away from a town before, let alone have everyone look so peaceful. The boy suddenly worried that their presence alone would ruin the tranquility of this place. It seemed to be a curse they had, or at least his father had. John Marston seemed to bring chaos wherever he went. Whether it was the bounty, forever on his head, or just his restless spirit. Sometimes, Jack wondered if his father didn’t feed off of it. If his life on the ranch wasn’t just a facade to keep his wife and son off his back.
“Jack?” His father’s raspy voice drew him back from his thoughts.
“Sir?”
“I was asking if you wanted to set camp up on that ledge overlooking the beach,” the man gestured with a gesture to the general direction he was referencing.
“Oh, sure.”
John hitched Soot to a tree and made sure to give her a sugar cube for all her hard work. She took to grazing as the two set up their camp. Jack had to admit it was a nice spot. It was a little ways off from the hustle and bustle of the dock, but not too far off that they couldn’t see it.
He hadn't camped out since he was a kid. In fact, Jack hadn't been alone with his father really either. He supposed it was a day for branching out of his comfort zone. His father made quick work of building their campsite. He made making a fire look easy. He looked more at home here then he ever did on the ranch.
The teen sat by their fresh campfire before looking up to see John carrying two fishing poles. “Want to help me catch dinner?”
Jack didn’t say anything, just stood up and took a pole off his father.
They sat on the edge of the dock. Jack kicked his dangling legs as he waited for a fish to bite, “you know, I remember Uncle Arthur teaching me to fish.”
“Arthur taught you to fish now, did he?”
“Yeah, I suppose he did.”
“That’s nice…” Clicking filled the air as John reeled in his line slowly, to encourage a bite.
Jack was taken aback when he felt a tug on his line. He quickly pulled the pole as the fish fought him. After a bit of back and forth, he reeled it in. He smiled, showing his father the steel head trout he caught.
“Very good!”
Jack sat back down, putting new bait on the hook, “Hey, my trip with Arthur, I remember now. I picked some flowers, and… a couple of men showed up… dressed like they were from the city.”
“No one like that’s gonna show up here, thank the Lord.”
John reels in his own fish, “You know, Arthur used to be a terrible fisherman. One time he even bought fish and brought it back to camp to act as if he caught them! Once we found out we laughed at him for days. Dutch and Hosea never let him forget that story!” He laughed before more memories came flooding in, making his mood more somber.
Jack watched him, surprised to hear him talk about the past at all.
The older man cleared his throat trying to finish his story, “Which made it all the more unbelievable that, that asshole strolled into camp years later to show off a legendary bluegill that he caught,” the man scoffed. “Kieran probably did all the work anyway.”
Jack bit his lip, “mom says you don’t like to talk about Uncle Arthur.”
“That’s not necessarily true… I just don’t see a point in bringing him up. Ain’t gonna bring him back.”
“I’d like to think it keeps his memory alive. If you’d die, I’d make sure people never forget ya.”
“Don’t worry son, I’m not dying anytime soon,” John said it so lightly, like death wasn’t even a possibility, but Jack knew better. As much as he wanted to believe those words - he couldn’t.
The two managed a decent-sized turnout of trout. Jack was actually proud of himself. It showed in his bouncy demeanor and his sudden talkative nature. “I just never thought I’d be able to catch anything!”
John laughed, “You did really good. I told you, you would eventually like fishing.”
“So, are we going to cook them now?”
“What, you hungry?”
As if on cue, the boy's stomach grumbled, “Maybe.”
John was happy the mood was lighter between them, “I was gonna gather some herbs first.”
“Herbs?”
“Yeah, for seasoning. I saw some oregano close by.”
Jack followed closely as his father sifted through some plants. He examined them carefully, before choosing one and breaking off a piece to sniff it. “Yup that’s it.”
“How can you tell?”
“Years of practice, I guess. Plus, it’s always good to have a guide.” He took out his journal, flipping it open to the page that showed a nice graphite sketch of oregano.
Jack’s eyes widened, “That was Arthur’s wasn’t it?”
John closed it and nodded, “Yeah, it was. I’ve used it as my own since he gave it to me. Someday I’ll pass it on to you.”
“If there are even any pages left,” Jack jested.
“If not, I think it’s still important to give it a read. Helped me learn a lot about your uncle Arthur. Maybe it can do the same for you with me one day.”
The boy was surprised his father would trust him with something so special. Especially when it contained all his private thoughts. Thoughts John didn’t really show to anyone.
John started cooking up their fish, making sure to season it thoroughly. He utilized the grill to give it a nice, even cook. While his father was busy, Jack helped break down the other fish. He wasn’t the best at it, but he at least could make sure no bones were left inside.
Once the fish was done, the boys grabbed a spot in the grass. The fire’s light flickered on their faces as the last of the sun disappeared under the hills in the distance. The fish tasted great, and Jack finally understood the importance of seasoning as he swallowed a bite, “Don’t tell mom, but I think this is way better than her stew.”
John laughed with fish in his mouth. He had to lift a hand to his lips, so he wouldn’t spit it out, “Your Ma has many talents… cooking is not one of them.”
“Maybe we should cook for her instead sometime,” Jack suggested.
“I think she would like that.”
They finish their dinner, taking in the surrounding night. John digs in his satchel for a bit before pulling out a whiskey bottle. He took a long swig before looking at Jack and holding the bottle out to him.
“Sir?”
John tilts the bottle, “go ahead. I was younger than you when I tasted alcohol for the first time.”
Jack still looked unsure.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” he grinned.
At that, Jack took the bottle. He looked at it for a few seconds before mimicking his father and lifting it up quickly. As soon as the amber liquid touched his tongue, Jack pulled the bottle back down in shock, “That tastes horrible!”
John leaned back, shaking with laughter. He was practically wheezing at his son’s expense, and Jack furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry!” He really tried to stop the grin on his face, but he couldn’t, “I swear I’m not laughing at you. I felt the same way at your age, is all.“
John took the bottle from Jack and took another sip. “Now look at me.”
Jack shook his head, “Adults do weird things.”
John nodded, “Couldn’t agree more.”
The older man continues to nurse his bottle, while Jack leans back and looks up at the sky. He tries his best to try and make out any recognizable patterns, but with so many dots in the sky, it’s hard. He catches his father out of the corner of his eye staring at him and turns his head to match his gaze, “What?”
“I’m just-just so happy you turned out pretty great… all things considered,” there was a bit of a slur to his father’s words, but Jack’s heart didn’t seem to mind as it swelled within his chest.
The boy shook his head, “I’m not so great. I’m just a soft fool.”
“You're not soft, you’re just a boy. It's good being a boy. Leave the growing up to us adults.”
Jack wonders if the words his father is speaking is the alcohol, or if it’s truly what he feels towards him. He decides not to entertain those thoughts further as he gets up to wash their utensils in the lake.
John is in the tent when Jack returns. He sees his father’s shadow displayed on the fabric thanks to the lantern he has inside. He scribbles in his journal, looking up only when he sees Jack at the mouth of the tent.
The boy settles into his bedroll as John closes his journal. Jack grabs his book from his bag, “I-Is it alright if I read a bit?”
“Sure. What you reading this time?”
“Oh it's nothing.”
“Come on. I’m interested," his father pressed.
Jack sighs, “It’s The Wizard of Oz”
“A wizard?”
“It’s about a girl who lives on a farm and gets taken away to a magical world by a tornado. She tries to find the wizard who can make wishes come true, and hopes she can get back home by wishing for it.”
“Sounds interesting. You, uh, wouldn’t mind reading it out loud, would ya?”
Jack gets comfortable and starts reading. John lays down, turned towards his son as he takes in each word. The boy was delighted. He read for a bit, making decent progress until his father’s snores interrupted him. He puts the book away and curls up under his blanket. Maybe this camping trip wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.
The smell of smoke filled the air and Jack's nose twitched. He tried to roll over and catch a few more minutes, but between the morning bird songs and the sun, he gave up. As bright as it was in the tent, his eyes weren’t quite prepared for the true brightness of the sun. He squinted as he pushed through the tent’s fabric. His father was grilling pronghorn, he looked up and gave his son a smile, “Mornin’ sleepyhead.”
Jack rubbed the leftover sleep from his eyes, “good morning.”
John poured some coffee into a mug and offered it out.
The boy grabbed the cup, sitting next to his dad by the fire. He brought the mug to his lips before making a face.
“What is it? I promise there isn’t whiskey in it,” His dad said, mirth in his eyes.
Jack fell silent, heat in his cheeks, “Could I have a sugar cube?”
“A sugar cube? Oh!” John reached into his bag and quickly plopped two into the boy’s cup.
“Sorry.”
The older man’s mug went to his lips. He peered over the rim to look at his son, “For what? Liking your coffee sweet? Nothin’ wrong with that.”
“You don’t think it makes me… girly?” Jack kicks at the grass, his eyes cast downwards to his feet.
John scoffs, “If I judged people based on drink preference alone I’d be quite the hypocrite.”
Jack took a sip of his coffee; happy, the overwhelmingly bitter liquid was cut enough from the added sweetness.
There was something about cooking on a campfire that made it taste better. That, or Jack had to admit that John was the better cook, out of his parents. Though the man had no matters. He was currently biting chunks of meat off the tip of his knife. It wasn’t even seconds off the fire, and you could tell as the man’s face turned to shock. He huffed air around the meat in his mouth in a pathetic attempt to cool it off. After swallowing it, his eyes watered a bit as it burned on the way down. Then, he quickly drank from his canteen in a last-ditch effort to dowse his scorched mouth. He sighed in pain and sat there before contemplating taking another bite.
Jack watched his father intensely, his image of him turning hazy as he became lost in thought. He really did wonder sometimes what his mother saw in him. John, personally, always reminded Jack of a feral dog. A dog that was cute, but bit when you least expected it. A dog would run away, making you think he was dead, only to turn up on your porch randomly. A dog that you wanted to hate but couldn’t. A dog that’s loyal until the very end, which would be soon because dogs never lived long.
“Finish up, boy, I have something I want to show you.”
The boy blinked, his father snatching him from his thoughts. He finished eating quickly while John grabbed his lasso, making sure it was sturdy.
“What is it, Pa?”
“Shh, you’ll see, but you got to keep it down.”
John motioned for Jack to follow as the older man crouched down. He moved away from their camp slowly, deeper out on the plain. He hid behind some brush and put a finger to his lips. Jack comes up behind him and peers over to see what all this is about.
Yards in front of him, there is a pack of wild horses. A mixture of different breeds and coats, but the one that stands out to him is the beautiful white roan Nokota.
“Look at that white one!” He tried to whisper, but it comes out a little loud.
The horses don’t seem to notice as they continue their grazing.
“I was thinking. How would you like to learn how to break a horse in?”
Jack’s eyes shined brighter than John has ever seen, “Really?”
“Sure. Gotta make a proper rancher of you after all.” John winked.
“So first you want to get the horse's attention. Then, once it's noticed you, you want to approach it calmly and carefully. You don’t want to spook it, or it will take off on ya,” Jack nodded enthusiastically after every sentence, “Once you get close enough give it a pat and mount it. It will try to buck ya off, so you have to make sure to hold on with your legs. One hand on the mane, the other for balance.”
John looked up at the horses again, “You ready?”
Jack nodded enthusiastically.
John stood, joints popping, “Now first you got to get their attention.”
Jack was nervous, but he swallowed his fear and cleared his throat, “er… Hey girl!”
The horse locked eyes with the boy, raising its front legs in fear.
John motioned for Jack to approach, “Go ahead boy. Don’t spook it now.”
Jack slowly approached the scared animal. He kept his knees bent in a crouch, his palms open to show he meant no harm. As he got closer he offered the horse words of encouragement. “It’s gonna be okay girl, I won’t hurt you.”
She let him get close enough to pat and he gave her an affectionate graze of his hand. Before she could react he quickly threw himself over her flank, gripping her hair with one hand. She immediately started to buck and throw him off. He squeezed his legs as tight as he could and tried to turn her in the opposite direction she was going. She fought fiercely, but Jack was determined to break her. He needed to show his father he could do this.
After a few minutes, the horse seemed calm, letting Jack walk it in a circle. The boy ruffled the horse’s bangs, and it gave a little huff. “See, we friends now, ain’t we?”
“That was mighty fine ridin’ son.”
The praise warmed Jack’s chest, his smile bright., “Thanks, Pa. You’re a good teacher, after all.”
His father rubbed the horse's nose, “She’s a fine filly. You had best take care of her, ya hear?”
“Of course Pa.”
Jack dismounted the horse to feed her a carrot. She still watched him nervously but made no move to bolt.
“We’ll have to get you a saddle,” John said as he started brushing her flank. “A nice one, too. Make sure it’s comfortable for both of ya, and it lasts.”
“Really? I know we're tight on money…”
John shakes his head, “We’ll be alright, boy. We can sell some pelts and me, and you seem to have no problem breakin’ in horses. Could do some jobs like that, or sell some wild horses to the stables.”
“I would like that- helping you, I mean.”
“Well, well, well,” Jack was too entranced with his horse to notice two men approaching them, “Nice horse you got there.”
John moved in front of his son, eyes in a glare, hand near his holster.
“Uh, thanks. I caught her myself,” Jack mumbled, unable to look the men in their eyes.
“Did ya now?” The men stepped closer, circling around John towards the horse and Jack. John turned his body to match their movements.
“What do you want?” John growled.
“You got a rude father, kid. Should learn himself some manners.” One of the men stated with Jack while the other was in John’s face.
“Tell ya what. You give us that horse, and we don’t kill your son in front of ya. How’s that?” The man in front of John sneered. Jack froze, his body tense and his mind swimming.
“You touch a hair on his head, and I’ll kill you in ways you can’t even imagine,” his father promised.
The man closest to Jack pulled his gun on the boy and clicked the hammer, “The horse.”
John drew his gun in a flash, his moments matched by the man in front of him. It was a train of pointed guns that ended with Jack. Tension filled the air as no one moved. Jack was crying now, his breath coming out in heavy puffs as he tried not to panic, “Dad?”
“It’s okay, son. Give them the horse.”
Jack looked at the Nokota, giving her one last good pat before giving the man closest to him the makeshift rope reins. His eyes were red and puffy, and his nose and cheeks were flushed.
The man holstered his gun, taking the rope and ruffling the boy’s hair, “There ya go kid, this horse ain’t worth ya life, is it? I promise I’ll take good care of her."
Jack said nothing, just looked down. He hoped the men would just take her and leave him alone.
Two loud bangs rip through the plains. He was sure he had been shot, only to look down and see he was fine. The man in front of him let out a gurgle as he fell backward. A pool of blood blossomed around his clothes, staining the cloth a deep red. His eyes were cloudy and unfocused, refusing to shut as they stared at the sky. He, then, remembered his father and looked around to see the man looking down at the other robber. He was holding his bullet wound and dragging himself away from John.
"Get away from me," he spat, but John only came closer. He brought his gun up to point at the man's head. "Please no! I-I-"
John didn't let the man finish, as the sound of the gun cut him off. Jack closed his eyes, not wanting to see what was left of the man. He was shaking. He couldn't even look at his dad. Before he knew what he was doing, he was running. Running until his lungs burned, and his feet refused to walk anymore. He heard his dad yelling for him, but even that eventually became a distant hum.
John wasn’t sure what had just happened. In a matter of seconds, all of the years spent forgetting his days as a gunslinger died as his hand fell to his gun and he went on autopilot.
John was frustrated. With himself and this situation. He knew Jack needed some time, so he slowly led the Nokota back to their camp. He kicked a rock like a moody teen, before lighting a cigarette to help his nerves. He tethers the white horse next to Soot before looking for Jack.
Panic settles in as the boy isn’t anywhere to be found. He rushes to the fishermen’s shop to ask for help when he catches his boy sitting on the end of the dock. He sighs in relief before sitting next to him, grunting as his bones protest.
Jack doesn’t look at him. His gaze is locked on the water, “I know… you had to, but I just don’t want to see any more people die.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could promise that you won’t… but I can’t. It does get easier.”
“I don't want it to get easier! I just want things to be normal. You don’t always got to be a hero. Next time, just let them have the damn horse! We can always find more… I-I can’t find another dad.”
As their conversation turned quiet, the sounds of the night could really be noticed. Crickets were chirping their tune, while the water lapped at the beach and dock. Occasionally a bird could be heard or some small nocturnal animal.
Jack stares out at the lake “I just don’t think I’ll ever be the son you want.” his eyes started to water, he aggressively wipes away the tears before they fall.
“That’s not tru-”
“And I try not to care. I really do. But no matter how much I tell myself not to care about what you think, I do. I want you to love me. I want you to love me like the dads in my books or the dads in town with their sons.”
“But I know you… and I know that’s impossible.”
Jack was fully crying now. He was grieving. Grieving for the way things are. Grieving for the way things were. For a normal childhood, he won’t get, and for a future that will probably end up the same way.
“Jack…” John let out a breath, a bit shakier than he would like, “I know I messed up. I hurt you a lot and I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
“You wouldn't even let me call you “Pa” for years!” Jack reminded him.
John flinched, he had hoped Jack would have forgotten that.
“Listen. I'm sorry I'm your father. You do deserve someone better, but I will never be sorry that you're my son.”
Jack jerked his head to look his dad in the eyes. They were fierce, angry- but most of all sad.
“I made a lot of mistakes in my life. But the biggest one was the year I left. I missed your first words… your first steps. And then when I came back I couldn’t even look at you. I thought ignoring you was for the best. It wasn’t ‘cause I didn’t care, I just thought you’d be better off without me. I thought I was gonna mess you up. And I did- just not the way I expected.”
“But I’m proud and lucky to be your father. You’re a good kid. You're kind, passionate, smart, everything I’m not and I’m glad. I do care for you, Jack. I care so much. I was so worried I was going to lose you today.”
Jack was simmering down, but he still let out a scoff, “ But you don't even know I'm yours.”
Jack threw back the words he had heard his whole life.
“You are mine, Jack. You're mine in the only way that matters.”
There is a pause, and John isn’t really sure where their relationship stands anymore. That is until Jack throws himself at John, knocking the man over. The boy cries into his chest, and John rubs comforting circles into his back.
“It's okay son, it's okay.”
At least the rest of the day is uneventful. John takes Jack out on one of the boats and they snag more fish for dinner, and the two unwind by the fire with their horses grazing nearby.
“What are you gonna name her?”
Jack blushes, “I don’t know I was kinda thinking Glinda. Glinny for short.”
John tilts his head. “The witch from your book?”
“You were paying attention!” he smiles.
“‘Course I was. I, uh, liked the story or what I heard from it so far”
“I can read you more tonight if you want, sir.”
“I’d like that," John nodded.
The embers of their fire are going out by the time they go into their tent. Jack lights his lantern to read. He reads a bit before his father starts to drift off.
“Hey Pa?”
“Hmm?” John grunts out, his eyes closed.
“I love you.” That makes him open them.
John realizes at this moment that Jack has never said this to him before. Guiltily, he also realized he hadn't said it to his son either. John was never good with words of affirmation or physical touch. He was much more of a quality time kind of guy, but even then he hasn’t given Jack that, “I love you too, kid.” It slips out effortlessly and maybe - he realizes - he should say it more often.
Jack closes his eyes and feels lighter than he has in a long time. It lasts a few minutes, maybe hours at most before he hears a rustle outside of the tent and his eyes snapped open.
Then unholy screaming makes him jump up. He dives for his father’s bag and grabs his pistol, hands shaking. His mind raced, it couldn’t be outlaws again, could it?
John blinked, his eyes focusing on the image in front of him. Jack was holding his pistol aiming at the tent opening.
“What are you doing?” John grabbed the gun from his son’s hands.
Jack was panting, his breath coming out as tiny wheezes.
“Jack? Jack, it's okay it's just coyotes.”
John put an arm over his son, and Jack finally blinked, looking up at his father, “Coyotes?”
“Yeah, just coyotes. They won’t hurt you.”
Jack nodded and went to lie down, still clearly shaken.
John watches him for a second before patting next to him, “come on move your bedroll over here.”
“What? Why?”
“Aren’t you scared?”
Jack bristled, “I-I’m not a baby!”
“Ain’t saying you are.” John motioned with his head, “come on.”
Jack hesitantly moved his bedroll against his father's. He settled into it, still feeling awkward. “You must think I’m such a disappointment.”
“Why cause you’re scared? After almost getting robbed?”
Jack nodded, pulling the blanket to his chin.
“You want to know a secret? When I was older than you I still would go into Hosea’s tent when I was scared.”
"Really?" Jack's eyes were wide in surprise.
“Yeah, and when he was out, I made Arthur make room for me.”
“No way!”
John laughed.
Jack looked down at his bedding. “You really loved them didn’t you?”
“Of course, Hosea was my dad… and Arthur was my brother.”
“I miss them.”
“Me too.”
Jack turned away from his dad to try and sleep, but as he heard the coyotes again he rolled back over to push into his dad’s chest. John opened his arms for him.
John woke up to Jack’s hand smacking him in the face. He almost chuckled out loud. The boy’s mouth was opened, and his leg was out of his blanket: the perfect picture of a disarrayed heavy sleeper.
He got up as quietly as he could to go piss. Jack stirred but didn’t wake.
They were going back today, and John felt good. It felt like everything in his life was going well for once. He finished and started reviving their campfire. He looked at Jack through the tent opening as he slept. He had completely taken up both bedrolls - his head was on John’s pillow and his legs still were on his own bedroll. John shook his head with a chuckle.
The fire was going again, and John decided to let Jack sleep in. Yesterday was a hard day for him after all. The man went out hunting, making sure to bring home the meat his wife asked for. He got some nice pelts out of it too. Might actually have enough to get that saddle.
John rode back to the camp, Jack was sitting by the fire. He stood when he saw John peak over the horizon line.
John gave Soot another sugar cube and let her rest with Glinda. Glinda came up and nuzzled John’s shoulder, jealous.
Jack laughed, “I think she wants one too.”
John sighed in defeat, “Fine, fine.” He gave her a cube and the horse happily trotted back to join Soot.
John joined Jack at the fire, both sitting down. John cooked breakfast for them, “So, you tired of being out here yet?”
Jack shook his head, “It was fun, but I do miss my bed.”
John smiles, “Me too, and your Ma, though I could do with a longer vacation away from uncle.”
Jack laughed, nearly choking on the coffee his father gave him. He had even put in sugar without the boy asking.
“We can do this again though right?”
“‘Course! After all, I’m gonna need my number one man to get enough horses for the ranch.”
Jack's eyes lit up.
Abigail couldn’t help but worry the whole time the boys were away. She hoped it was going well, but she prepared herself for them to be at each other’s throats.
Uncle and her had a spat here or two but they always forgave each other before dinner. She even drank with him one night by the fire. Uncle shared some unflattering stories about John and she laughed until she had stitches.
“I… I think I see them!” Uncle shouted and Abigail ran from her spot in the kitchen. She joined Uncle on the porch, squinting her eyes to try and make out her husband and son.
Sure enough, two figures were approaching. They watched steadily until she finally could recognize the two. They pulled up and hitched their horses. Abigail eyed the new horse.
“Mighty fine new horse there.”
“I broke her myself!” Jack told her, proudly.
“Looks like your father is making a proper cowboy of you yet.”
Jack smiled, returning to help his father unpack their belongings and unsaddle the horses.
Abigail walked behind him, “How did the trip go? I don’t need to knock sense into your father do I?”
“No. It was a good trip. I’m happy you convinced me to go,” the boy beamed.
Abigail smiled and Jack went inside to unpack his stuff.
John approached, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek, “How did we get so lucky with that kid?”
“By having him be more like me than you.”
John laughed, “Yup, that’s probably it.”
Uncle's voice broke through the nice moment, “What no warm embrace for me? I swear it’s like you people don’t even want me around.”
“We don’t,” they both said in unison.
He waved them off, leaving in a huff. “Yeah, yeah, pick on the old man.”