Birds of a Feather II

Hosea

Hosea had decided he was getting rid of this sling today, even though the arm was still tender and bruised. He'd been injured weeks ago, but damn if the thing didn't want to mend. However, Hosea needed to discard it because of how Dutch looked at him, seeing his injury as weakness and brushing off his concerns.

But today, Hosea was determined to make Dutch listen to reason. They had to move the family and they might even have to split up to do it, a notion Dutch had never been agreeable on, even when he'd been reasonable and before he'd started killing oil magnates in broad daylight.

It was time, and overdue for them to move on. Gangs as large as theirs didn't last this long being chased, and they'd been damned lucky this far. If they weren't careful, they'd end up in a fatal shootout with Milton's army of government stooges and the casualties on either side would be unthinkable.

Hosea couldn't let that happen. If it took his last dying breath, he was getting everyone out safe. He just wished every conversation with Dutch didn't turn into an uphill battle. Truth be told, it'd been like that since their first argument decades ago, but these days Hosea gave in easier. Maybe it was his own fault for catering to Dutch all these years, always relenting when he didn't want their clashing to escalate.

Bessie used to scold him for conceding to Dutch on too many occasions. She'd been right, of course. She'd been right about most things, but he'd always been too slow to take her advice. The funny thing about Bessie was she'd been willing to point out their weaknesses, but ignored her own.

Even before they were married, Bessie had traveled with the gang. She was fine when they set up camp, but Hosea found out soon enough she couldn't handle the constant traveling. The moving made her ill for days on end, but she never complained.

Hosea had never faulted her for it. There were some people not cut out for hard living. But this was Bess. So, he'd made one of the hardest decisions of his life. He decided to retire.

Hosea said goodbye to the boys, took his earnings and found Bessie a little cottage built solidly in the middle of a golden field of whey. They'd been happy for awhile, quiet living suiting him when he had a wife to share it with.

But it wasn't long until Dutch came around, casually mentioning the con they were working on and tempting him into getting back in with the gang. It had started simple enough, with Dutch only wanting a second opinion, but more and more Hosea was pulled in until he'd started spending days away from Bessie to oversee multiple jobs. His growing absences was what his last disagreement with Bessie had been about.

"Can't Dutch manage a week without you?" Bessie had rested her palms on his chest, staying his exit from their little house. She'd softly pleaded, "Stay home another few days, Hosea."

He'd tried to reason with her, "I'm going to bring back enough money for us to live comfortably the rest of our lives, Bess."

"But we're already living comfortably." She tugged his lapels and stood on her tiptoes. "I just want you here, with me."

The memory of her peppermint breath whispering over his lips now haunted and mocked him more than it comforted him. Idiot that he was, he'd left her that day, as he'd been slipping back into the game again little by little. Her pleading for him to stay hadn't been entirely fruitless. He'd spent a shorter amount of time away, working a con with Arthur as they posed as collection agents. As soon as the money was in hand, he'd skirted back to home, passing up on a celebratory night with the boys to eagerly have Bess in his arms again.

His haste had been for naught. Bessie had passed away in his absence. He found her in their shared bed clutching their wedding photo. Since there was no foul play evident, he could only speculate as to what happened.