𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘎𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘌𝘚𝘚 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘙𝘌𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘉𝘜𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕 | ʀᴅʀ

Chapter Thirteen

1893: New Hanover

Now that the camp had grown much larger over the last three years, they set up a second campfire on the outskirts for those who were on guard duty. Rosalie sat at the fire, enjoying its warmth in the cool, fall morning, weaving a small section of her hair with thin fingers into a braid for a partial updo to get the top layer of thick, rowdy curls out of her face.

She looked out over the flames as she worked, the morning birds chirping as the world stirred awake.

Rosalie wore a dark brown button-up shirt with the green poncho Isabella had made for her draped over her shoulders for warmth, her breath visible in white puffs against the chill. Her black riding pants were pulled over her recently polished brown boots. The sounds of people getting breakfast and chatting behind her filled the silence.

The camp was more full than it ever had been before. There were over ten members now, making for a much larger band of them than the small group when she first joined in 1885.

Rosalie wasn't bothered by how much they'd grown, and she actually found it quite fun. While some members were a thorn in her side—such as Bill or the Reverend—she thought it was comparable to a large, boisterous family. She liked it.

Rosalie, as an only child, spent her early years surrounded by just her father and uncle. Despite the small size of their family, she cherished them deeply, but even back then she had been enamored with the thought of what it was like to have a big family. One filled with siblings and loud gatherings where you shared inside jokes, ate meals together and drank together.

It was part of the reason she fell in love with the book Little Women Arthur had found for her all those years ago. It was a bit silly now, a child's dream to have a big happy family, but what she had now, at twenty-seven years old, wasn't too far off from what she wanted in her teenage years.

"Hey uh... can we talk?"

Rosalie looked over, pausing her braiding to see Mac beside the fire.

He looked like a kicked puppy as he sheepishly met her gaze. His white shirt was disheveled and partially unbuttoned, and his shoulder length, blonde hair was messy. He probably hadn't combed it, or even shaved, his blonde scruff a bit thicker than he usually kept it, covering his strong jawline.

After Mac beat the shit out of Bill and Dutch sent him away to cool down, he hadn't returned for two days. It didn't seem like that long, as Arthur and Rosalie were often away working on their own leads, but Mac wasn't known for staying out of camp for extended periods—especially without Davey. The only time he'd leave for a long stretch was if Davey went with him, which was a rare occurrence. He had only returned yesterday morning and hadn't spoken to her.

"Sure, what's up?" She asked casually.

Mac scratched the back of his head and grimaced.

"Can I sit?" He asked, gesturing to the spot next to her.

Rosalie gave him an odd look. "...Yes?"

Taking the invitation, he awkwardly shuffled into the spot beside her and splayed his hands on his knees. He stared at the fire, not saying anything at first. The sounds of the crackling logs filled the silence. Rosalie continued braiding her hair, taking a section from her hairline on the opposite side of her head after finishing the previous one, waiting patiently for him to start talking.

"I'm sorry I blew up on Bill n' started punching him for ya'," Mac said suddenly, turning to face her.

Rosalie stared at him, blinking idly, her fingers pausing in her hair. She snorted and shook her head. "You think I'm mad about that?"