NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY: RDR2

40. NEXT PROVE A ROSE

"The dear only knows

What will next prove a rose.

You, of course, are a rose

But were always a rose."

-Robert Frost

It had been an unusually quiet in the few days since Colm had fallen through the gallows and off this mortal coil. I had heard next to nothing from anyone, except a flying visit from Charles who'd stopped to refuel himself on his way back from the reservation. He hadn't said much, as he so often didn't. I'd kept myself occupied with getting the wagon ready for a sale, hunting for some of the smaller pelts that Cripps needed for the finishing touches. I had wondered about Arthur and the others, I'd worried after them, but I had to admit that it was nice to get away from it all for a few days. If only temporary, it felt like the ground wasn't cracking like ice beneath my feet. I would get up, I would have coffee, and then I'd get to work.

Cripps had been grateful for the company; I don't think I'd ever seen him go so far out of his way to start conversations. I supposed that months of a mostly empty camp, only a dog to speak to, would make anyone feel starved for connection. I noticed that he had stopped scrunching his face in disgust every time Rooster approached him, now bending down to greet him with a gentle pat. He had bought the dog for me, but it was undeniably his own.

"Can you hang around for a few hours?" he asked as I nursed my morning coffee.

"Sure, what for?"

"Contact of mine has sent some more buckles, gotta pick 'em up from the post office." He explained, lacing up his boots, cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Alright." I reply, turning my attention back to the steaming cup in my hands. Cripps had been making a lot of satchels lately, I thought about seeing if he would be willing to make a new one for Arthur, as his was barely holding together.

He set off soon after, whistling a familiar tune as he and Grogan disappeared into the trees. I took over the tanning duties, stirring the submerged pelts and stretching the new ones. Cripps rarely let me get involved in this side of the business, I was the one that hunted and sold, but he made them worth selling in the first place. I was good at it, readying the stock, cutting the pelts to make garments and items. But I lacked finesse, I lacked the creativity to see something before it had begun to take shape, to think outside of the box. Where I lacked, Cripps excelled.

I was beginning to settle into an afternoon of work, like the afternoons of the few days past, when a rustle from the trees drew my attention. Arthur pushed through into the opening, the ever-faithful Leonidas below him, ears flicking forward in joy at the sight of Aine.

"You know," I start, smiling over to where he had pulled his horse to a halt. "One of these days, my first reaction to seeing you won't be relief that you aren't dead."

"Reckon relief will turn to irritation?" he replied, smirking while he dismounted.

"Without a doubt."

"You're startin' to make me regret coming all the way up here..."

"Am I?" I said, narrowing my eyes at him as he strode towards me.

"No, not even a bit." He replied, capturing my face in his hands and lowering his head to kiss me. I let go of the pelt stirrer, instead letting my arms snake around his neck as I leaned into the kiss. It was rare to see him in such a good mood, not weighed down by whatever task was at hand or whatever mess he was left to clean up. I smiled against his lips as the scruff of his beard tickled my chin, before pulling back to get a better look at him.