𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑆𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑜𝑛-𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒜𝓇𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒟ℴ𝒹𝑔ℯ𝓇//ʲᵃᶜᵏ ᵈᵃʷᵏⁱⁿˢ

𝙴𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗

𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝓅ℯ𝓇𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝑔𝓊𝓎 𝒾𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒽ℯ𝓈𝓉 𝓃ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈ℴ𝓂ℯ𝓈𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ ℴ𝓃ℯ 𝓌𝒽ℴ 𝓂𝒶𝓀ℯ𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒾ℯ𝓈𝓉． —ℳ．𝒥．𝒯．

            𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑬-𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑬

WHEN I ARRIVED AT THE DUSTY HOTEL, the local crook, known as Tim Munchin—also referred by the street as Sketch or Crook—didn't have much to say when I stepped through the thick cloud of cigar smoke that sizzled my lungs at first breath. Aside of course, from the fact he decided to state a rather crude comment about what laid beneath the lace of my skirt that he could have done without.

But thankfully, when I handed him the manilla envelope filled with a mixture of schillings and cash, the statement was replaced with him agreeing there was no longer a debt left above my families head.

Well, just until Jack throws himself into the deep end with yet another skeeze of the valley.

Although, I knew a guy like Crook would find something else to land my family to, he would find another way to black mail us into paying something called 'just the taxes'—this was his go-to figure of speech, especially when he wanted something. He thought he was above everybody in this town because he owned a shiny new stallion and inherited his father's business.

But, all in all, aside from being the old used rag he calls the pride of the town, he was just fighting to survive this world just as I was.

Yes, nobody enjoyed Tim's company—us townsfolk believed it was easier to just keep out of his way and to avoid his wrath all over, but even then we're all similar in the sense that we're all fighting for survival against the laws and regulations of this nation.

On my way out, I stomped on his foot rather harshly as a consequence of his comments earlier, he was a low life Sleaze who had more money than most and would rather spend his schillings on Harletts than his ex-wife and son.

Men like him disgusted me, their silly comments and crude works sent a chill down my spine, they didn't have the need to keep their hands to themselves and I believe they do not deserve families nor a chance at happiness.

After that nuisance of a morning, I was set to grab a few essentials from the market. Nothing big, the kids just needed something for their lunches. I was lucky I'd saved a few schillings in my purse a few nights earlier, because with my savings gone, the budget was low as of previously.

"Oh, my dear Maria," Rosalie Grand greets from the comfort of her wooden stand, the same wooden stand Jack had built her when we were kids, it had been almost a decade since.

"Mrs Grand," My eyes softened at the woman before me, she was the one who had taught me the differences of the rights from the wrongs when I came back from nursing. "Lovely to see you. How are the boys?"

She smiles at the mentions of her two nephews. "Oh you know how they are, dear. Working hard, Cody is certainly growing up all too soon."

"Sure is, it feels as if the lad was only this big yesterday," I gestured my hand just above my hip, grinning at the thought of the brown eyed boy who grew up alongside Billy.

"Oh doesn't it just?" I drop three schillings down onto the wooden bench and grasp a bag of apples for the boys. "No, dear, that's too much," She tried to push two schillings back but I only smiled and placed a hand over hers.

"It's for the damages that my brother caused when he ran into your stall the other week," Clasping her hand hesitantly over the coins I offered her a small smile. "I insist."

"Never change, Marie," she shook her head, rubbing her thumb over the top of my hand. "You must send my regards to Jack, the love ran all around town after my boys yesterday."

"Will do, Mrs. Grand—and send my regards to Roger," I call politely over my shoulder, swivelling around and catching sight of one of the boys from the church running in a hurried manner with Mr. Smith chasing just behind with his arms flailing around in anger.

Somehow in the midst of snatching at the two boys, Mr. Smith had grasped ahold of one of their identical grey caps. Approaching the cursing elderly man, I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Smith? What's the bother?"

"That damned boy got away with my peaches!" He flailed his arms about in his angry outburst, he wasn't naturally an angry man he just had some issues. Shaking my head, I knew exactly which couple of boys it would have been. Nicholas and his younger brother Xavier have always been a popular couple of figures in the gallows. They were known for their clever get away and their hefty stealing, although they were good for a few weeks and stayed under the theft radar until they refused to go back to the boys church.

"Can I borrow the cap, sir?," Thankfully, Stephen Smith passed over the grey cap and with a shake of his head he retreated back to his shop, kicking at the road along his way. He was certainly not a happy chap this morning. He never really was actually. Jogging down to the crowd piling at the Gallows, I come up beside the fluffy haired boy and slip an arm over his shoulder.

"Nicholas," He jumped for a moment until he noticed I was the one beside him—that's when I notice his little brother, Henry. An inch shorter than his brunette brother and his hair a shade lighter. The eldest Bennett brothers' shoulders sagged with a hefty sigh. "Good to see you, lad. I'm guessing you were terrorising Mr. Smith by his complaints."

"Miss Budel," he grins, hiding the jar of peaches behind his back with a pleading smirk, his hazel eyes peaking out from just below his grey cap. "I wouldn't ever do anything of that sort. I highly respect Mr. Smith."

"Well, I'm sure that's not your own jar of peaches in your hand, is it?" With a sigh, he plopped the goods onto my outstretched palm, me giving him a scruff through his hair in thanks. "Good lad. Now, I bet you'll be wanting this then," I slip his cap over his head and pat his shoulder before replacing the jar with two apples. "You two stay out of trouble, would ya?"

"No promises Mari," he grinned proudly, I bump my hip with his and gesture to the stand above where an older man was held by a noose. "What'd he do?" I ask, gesturing towards the Gallows.

"Mr. Escapee over there slipped convict," Henry answered, he took a rather large bite from his apple and shook his head. "Don't think he'll escape the rope though."