Miss Morgan

Eleven

July 1889
-Ivy-

"Oof!" The wind is pushed from my lungs as Annabelle tightens the corset around my waist.

"Stand still would ya?" She barks at me.

"I don't understand why I gotta wear this." I whine. "We rob and kill folks, but god forbid I wear jeans."

"You know why." Dutch grumbles from outside their tent. "You go in lookin' like a proper lady and no one will suspect you're there to rob the place. This train is going to have the wealthiest folks in the state and I can't have you in there lookin' like a street rat."

He's right. I know he's right. I just really hate wearing dresses.

Mary-Beth finishes pinning and curling my hair and as I look in a mirror I can already hear Mac and Davey's snide remarks to come.

Mary-Beth Gaskill is one of a few new folks that joined us in the last couple years, along with Bill Williamson, Tilly Jackson, Reverend Swanson, and an old man that just goes by Uncle. No one knows his real name.

Mary-Beth is a romantic, she loves reading books and she even shares some of hers with me. She's also real quick to pick a pocket. We found her in one of the small towns on our journey, getting chased by angry fellers and we felt sorry for her. Turned out they were mad because she robbed them. We were all impressed with her and brought her into our weird little family.

Bill was dishonorably discharged from the army after an attempted murder and fell right into the bottle. Took up the hobby of robbing folks and that's where we found him. He tried to Rob Dutch who simply laughed and asked him to join us instead. Bill's a hothead but he's built like a house and sometimes it's fun to poke the bear. His face sure turns red when you replace his whiskey with water.

Tilly Jackson is an African American girl around my age who was the daughter of a former slave. She was kidnapped by a gang called the Foreman Brothers and was with them a few years until she fell in with us. Dutch has been teaching her to read, just like he did with John, Arthur and I. She's real quiet but she's witty and kind.

Reverend Orville Swanson worked as a clergyman in the past but he's drifted from his faith it seems. Instead he indulges in alcohol and morphine. I don't know too much else about him.

Lastly, Uncle is a mystery to me. He drinks a lot and sits on his ass most of the time. I'm not even too sure on how he ended up joining us, but sometimes he plays his banjo and sings with us by the campfire, sometimes he tells stories that may or may not be true, and sometimes he tells a funny joke. So if anything, I guess he's here for our entertainment.

Annabelle finishes the tie on my corset and smooths the bottom of my dress before she looks me over one last time. It's a beautiful emerald green dress and the silky fabric feels expensive. It has golden buttons on the sleeves and the lace collar that's itchy and uncomfortable around my neck and I want to rip it off.

I hardly recognize myself with the makeup Mary-Beth applied to my face. I look frilly and girly. It's not me.

I take a deep breath and step out of the tent where Dutch is waiting. He plants a lingering kiss to Annabelle's lips then turns to me.

"Well, look at you." He smirks at me and I scoff.

I step past him to join the others who are waiting by the horses.

"Ignore the comments from Mac and Davey." Dutch snickers and I turn on my heel to bolt back into the safety of the tent, but crash into Dutch's solid frame so hard it knocks the wind out of me.
"No, Ivy. Van Der Linde's don't run. Come on." He chuckles as he leads me to the horses, his hand pushing between my shoulder blades to keep me moving forward.