Birds of a Feather

Charlotte

Charlotte stood on the balcony, outside of Arthur's room, pondering over the odd last few days. She'd certainly met an assortment of new people. She stared into the night as she recalled them one by one.

Her memory of Miss Grimshaw was fuzzy at best. She'd been going through the worst of it during her visits and Charlotte hadn't seen the woman since she'd felt better. Of what she remembered, Miss Grimshaw didn't have a gentle touch, but she'd done well in reviving Charlotte's health.

The image of Miss O'Shea had her frowning. A vibrant woman, but deeply troubled and too spiteful for one so young. Charlotte had a minimal understanding of Miss O'Shea's situation, but she'd done her best to listen and give her advice. In return, Miss O'Shea had given her a warning of the kind of people who resided here.

John had been quiet and watchful, almost like a hound ready to take action. Judging by his scars and guns, he wasn't new to a fight either.

She'd had a pleasant visit with Tilly and Mary-Beth, though those girls had some silly notions regarding her and Arthur. Tilly had been guarded, but not unfriendly and certainly accommodating. Mary-Beth remained a mystery, as flighty and innocent as any girl Charlotte had known from school. But maybe her charm was what made her a perfect criminal.

It was hard for Charlotte to think of any of them in those terms. Unexpectedly, they were all normal sorts of people, simply men and women who'd fallen on hard times. At least, on the surface.

During their game, Hosea had seemed a kindly man, but more than once she thought he'd been testing her, evaluating her trustworthiness. Fox-like, she thought him. Cunning, but not only that. The way he referred to Arthur had her thinking he served a more protective, paternal role in this gang.

Interestingly, the one she'd grown most curious about was someone she hadn't yet met. Dutch. Their 'esteemed leader' Hosea had said, but she hadn't missed the hint of bitterness in his tone. Then there was Miss O'Shea, longing for Dutch's attention, but willing to befriend and enlist a total stranger to help her speak to a man she claimed to love.

Charlotte wondered if he was the one attributing to the unease she'd been sensing or if that was a general state of a group at odds with the law. Was Dutch one of the wolves Miss O'Shea had referred to?

Inside the bedroom, Arthur entered all of a sudden, closing the door behind him. His back was to her as he discarded revolvers and his bandolier on the table. Strangely, his clothing was wet, dripping on the floor.

Charlotte stepped through the balcony doors and asked, "What's happened to you?"

"Jesus!" Arthur jumped and spun around to face her.

She tried not to laugh out loud at his startled expression. "Did you forget I was here, Arthur?"

"No."

She firmly pressed her lips together. His tone implied he had. She stepped closer and plucked at his clothing in confusion. "Why are you soaked to the bone?"

He grumbled, "I fancied myself a swim with a gator."

She stared at him. "I sincerely cannot tell if you're joking or not."

"Ain't no joke. Nearly got eaten by a monster."

"Oh my." She rested a hand on his arm. "Then I'm grateful for your safe return."

"You might be the only one."

Down his sleeve further, she noticed blood and asked in alarm, "Were you injured?"

Arthur looked down at his arm. "No, that's from some other feller."

Her eyes widened and he added quickly. "He got bit, but he'll pull through."