Arthur Morgan did not intend to survive when he gave his hat to John Marston and stayed behind to gain his redemption. As he crawled towards his final resting place, he never intended to wake up again.
But he does wake up. Thanks to time travelers F...
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Arthur's eyes flitted open in the darkness, to the sound of a woman screaming.
"John," he mumbled. "John, is that Abigail? John!" But John did not answer. Arthur rolled over in his cot to see that John's was empty. "Damn," Arthur grunted to himself. "Must be time."
Abigail kept screaming. Judging by the lack of gunshots and yelling, Arthur surmised that she was finally having her baby. It was about time. She'd been miserable for weeks, and John's attitude hadn't helped much. He largely ignored Abigail, much to Arthur's dismay, and in fact, Arthur was surprised that he'd even bothered to get out of bed now that the time had come for her to have his baby.
In between screams, Arthur could hear Miss Grimshaw and Karen speaking in even, comforting tones, in what sounded like words of encouragement. At least Abigail was well attended to, Arthur thought, rolling back over in bed and pulling his bedroll up over his shoulders. There was nothing he could do about it. And anyway, it was John's child, not his.
He closed his eyes to try and get some more sleep, but between a nagging feeling of worry for Abigail and the loud noise of her pain, rest would not come to him. It reminded him too much of the day Isaac was born, and kept bringing up old, uncomfortable memories.
Accepting that sleep would not come, Arthur groaned and sat up, checking his pocket watch for the time. It was well past midnight, but it was still late enough at night that the stars were still out, stretched like a string of brightly sparkling jewels in the heavens. It was a beautiful, calm night with a mild temperature, a perfect night for the birth of a baby.
Arthur pulled on some clothes and his boots and threw open the flap of the tent, with a cigarette in one hand and a match in the other. He struck the match on his boot and lit up the cigarette quietly, inhaling the sweet, calming smoke as though it were the breath of life. All the while, Abigail screamed.
"Go get John," he heard Miss Grimshaw say to Karen with a little bit of excitement. "It's almost time."
Karen emerged from a nearby tent with an exhausted look on her face. She wore an old dress with no sleeves, and she looked dirty and haggard, almost as though she'd been giving birth herself. "You're up on your feet and you didn't think to wake John up too?" she scolded Arthur when she saw him. "Get him up. His baby is almost here."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "He ain't here. I thought he was with you."
Karen's eyes widened. "No. He's not with us. Do you have any idea where he could have gone?"
Arthur shook his head. "I'm just as bewildered as you are." He looked around the camp. John was not by the fire, nor by the chuck wagon or liquor boxes near Dutch's tent. Then, Arthur noticed something else. "His horse is missing. He might be out hunting or somesuch."
Karen gave Arthur a look. They both knew John wasn't out hunting. He had probably heard Abigail's screams and gone off to be alone. The whole camp knew he was not happy about Abigail's pregnancy, and the closer her due date grew, the more agitated he had become. It boggled Arthur's mind.
