Blessed are the Peacemakers {[RDR2 Arthur X Reader]}

chapter 11; what must die will die

The last bit of the trip was excruciating. The heat had worsened, combining with the swampy water to create air so thick you could cut it with a knife. It'd grown hard to breathe, feeling like the murky water was filling your lungs. You were beginning to wonder what kind of hellhole John and Hosea had sent you to live in.

The day was drawing to a close, the setting sun illuminating the trees, making them looks almost as though they were on fire. At least this meant there would soon be a dip in temperature with the coming night. Hosea had assured you several times that you were getting close. He'd slowed his pace, much to your disappointment, in order to listen for any lingering trouble the men who'd gone ahead had stirred up.

You put your makeshift fan over your eyes to focus in on the building that was coming into view. It was considerably large although falling to pieces. A river ran up beside it, a few sheds and a gazebo surrounding the place along with meticulously placed sandbags. Obvious shelter from gunfire. You start to think about what kind of people had previously occupied the home but your thoughts were interrupted when you spot Taima peacefully grazing in a makeshift pen. Your heart lifts and you're suddenly itching to unload the wagon and find your man.

Dutch was stood out on the front porch, arms open wide and a cigar hanging from his lip as per usual.

"What do you think? Ain't she a beauty!" The proud man puffed his chest out. "Been a long time since we've had a proper roof over our heads." He pats the railing as if confirming the place would hold together despite it's looks.

You managed a meek smile and nod your head at him. "Sure is something Dutch. Thank you for securing it for us." You figure it's best to stay on his good side so long as he was going to resume his position of the almighty power.

You stepped down from the wagon that Hosea carefully chose a good parking spot for and started setting up. Reverend Swanson was less than eager to help you, instead focusing his attention on the fire that the already drunk Uncle was attempting to start. The women hopped gleefully from their own wagons, exchanging oohs and ahs. Jack sprinted from his mother's hip, anxious to explore his new playing grounds.

"You stay away from the water, you hear me boy?" John screeched at him. You glanced at the man, wondering just when he'd decided it was time to act like the father he was. Abigail ran after him, trying to keep him close in fear of the gators that infested the brown river. They were only one of the many dangers that occupied the Lemoyne country.