𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘎𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘌𝘚𝘚 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘙𝘌𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘉𝘜𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕 | ʀᴅʀ

Chapter Nineteen

1893: New Hanover

It was morning, half a week after the train robbery. Rosalie snored at Arthur's bedside, having dozed off while doing her usual duties of sitting in his tent, not leaving him alone for even a few minutes at a time.

She used her arms as a pillow, folded against his bedside table as she slept, her hair loose and cast down her back as she wore a plain shirt and her poncho to keep her warm.

Her injury seemed to be a blessing in disguise. With it, she was out of commission, which gave her plenty of time to linger at Arthurs's side as much as she pleased. In turn, though, it meant Dutch sent Mac and Davey out to do most of the work, so they had been gone from camp since the day before.

She missed Mac, but she was grateful for the time to be with Arthur. Arthur still hadn't said much of anything to anyone, including her. He barely ate, only attempting to sneak a bottle of alcohol when he could. She, John or Hosea would always take it when he did, so he didn't get much from it anyway.

Rosalie blinked awake, hearing someone move around inside the tent. With a slow yawn, she lifted her head, the blurriness of her eyes going away as she looked over at Arthur to see that he was sitting upright in his cot, hands gripping the metal frame as his socks dangled before the ground.

Rosalie stood up straight at the realization. She turned to face him with her hands splayed across her knees. She was alert and shocked at the sight, him sitting up the last thing she expected to see as she woke up from her nap.

She didn't speak, just looking at him and his sullen face, along with the thick, overgrown beard he sported. His hair was a bit long too, longer than he kept it even when he was trying to grow it out, the brown strands coming over his ears.

Arthur didn't say anything as he stared at the ground aimlessly.

The sounds of camp could be heard outside the tent. Pearson cooked something as he barked orders at Richy. Mary-Beth and Tilly giggled across the way, and she could hear Susan yelling at Karen for something. Despite Arthur's suffering, camp life continued on.

"Hey," Rosalie finally said softly, looking at him with sad, doe-like eyes.

Arthur lifted his head, meeting her gaze.

His eyes were sad. Rosalie could feel her heart breaking all over again for him, this undeniable grief within the blues of his eyes as he looked at her, his wordless stare communicating a thousand things that he didn't need words to say, and couldn't use words to say. His pain, his guilt, his sorrow, all of it was there in just his look, and she felt it deep within her, heart twisting into knots.

Rosalie reached out, her movement hesitant at first, until she allowed her hand to coil around his wrist, gently holding onto him as she stood from her chair and sat beside him on the cot.

She didn't say anything. Her hand moved from his wrist to wrap around his arm, holding him as he sat wordlessly in a sullen daze.

There wasn't anything for her to say now, and she knew it, as there were no words of comfort she could offer that could ease his pain. He needed someone to be at his side and let him know he wasn't alone. That, at the very least, was something she could provide.

Arthur's shoulders began to shake. He sniffed, tears running down his cheeks, his stare boring into the ground. His eyes were empty—hollow, and yet, filled with so much sadness as he looked at the grass, his overwhelming grief swallowing him whole as he began to cry angry, guilt-ridden, and pained tears with his hoarse sobs.

Rosalie held back the tremor in her own lip at his sorrow.

It hurt too much to see him this way. Weeping for his son, for the mother of his child who was murdered, or died to some other horrible death much too soon.