Traveler trilogy Book 2, updates every Friday!
Five years after killing Levi Cornwall, Arthur Morgan is happy. He has a wife who loves him, an honest job he enjoys, and two beautiful children named Sadie and Hiram. All of it is turned on its head, h...
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Blackwater May, 1899
May was a beautiful time in Blackwater, West Elizabeth. A sort of late spring still clung to the air preventing it from becoming too hot, but it was still pleasantly warm in the sunshine all the same. The sort of day that brought cooling rain to the parched, yellow grass of the prairies and saw storm clouds gathering ominously across the roiling waves of Flat Iron Lake. In fact, there was just such a storm that day, the day it all began to end.
Dr. Francis Sinclair sat anxiously in his window seat on a river boat. It was a lovely, little passenger steamer run by the Lemoyne River Boat Company, and in spite of what Francis knew was coming, he could not help but feel pleased with himself. The decision to come back in time and witness the goings-on today had not been an easy one, but there was simply no way to satisfy his intellectual curiosity about the event anymore.
After all, Arthur Morgan spoke of this day often and how it had shaped his life in many important ways. As Arthur's therapist, Francis felt getting an accurate timeline of events might be useful to the treatment of his patient and friend. And, Jackson Linton was insatiably curious about the event as a student of history, as well. So few people had survived it, after all. The newspapers hadn't named it the Blackwater Massacre because someone had got an accidental nosebleed.
"Beautiful day isn't it, ladies?" he asked the two women sitting behind him. Turning in his chair, he observed them carefully. One was a rather plump, blonde one with clear, blue eyes, and the other was quite slim and petite with olive skin and straight, black hair.
"Uh huh," the blond one grunted, looking around anxiously. Of course, Francis knew exactly who they were. The one who'd answered him was Karen Jones, and the other was Jenny Kirk. They were members of Dutch Van Der Linde's gang of outlaws, and they were on this river boat as a distraction for what was to come next.
"Listen," Francis said quietly. "Don't ask me how, but I know why you're here. I know what you're about to do, and I want to beg you to please not shoot me when it all starts."
Karen's eyes narrowed and Jenny crossed her thin, muscular arms defiantly. "How the fuck do you know that?" Jenny asked, leaning forward.
"Bit of a long story," Francis replied, smiling as he thought about the time watch in his pocket. "I assure you I'm not law; I'm just here as an observer. As such, please don't shoot me."
"We ain't planning to shoot anyone," Jenny snarled. "A quick in and out job with a pretty damn good take. That's what Dutch and Micah promised us."
"Micah Bell?" Francis scoffed. "He's a no-good bastard. You believe everything he says?"
A shadow crossed Jenny's face for a moment as though she secretly agreed with Francis, but it was gone so quickly he was sure he had imagined it. Karen spoke up then, and he forgot all about it.
