To the Ends of the West

7. A Year

For three days, Lottie skipped school, sneaking out to the clearing where Morgan's camp lay nestled among the brush. Hidden behind the bushes, she spied on the gang's daily routines. She watched Morgan carry out mundane chores, like gathering firewood or shooting bottles with a lean, dark-haired man who often challenged him to duels of marksmanship. She observed him jotting notes in a journal and felt a pang of jealousy every time he interacted with the women around camp, even if nothing in those conversations seemed flirtatious. Each day that passed with him still there—and yet without him coming to see her—her heart ached more, a gnawing anger beginning to fester alongside her sadness.

On the third day, Lottie found her resentment reaching a boiling point. Morgan had spent the day lounging around camp: eating stew, napping, chopping wood with his shirt off, which only served to frustrate her more, and losing miserably at poker before talking with an older man whose sharp features and grayish hair made him seem important. As dusk fell, she watched Morgan drink a beer by the campfire, the light catching on his rugged, handsome features. Fury rose in her, and she found herself cursing him under her breath—angry at him for not coming to find her, angry at herself for caring so much, and angry at the world for making her believe he was ever as sweet as he'd seemed that night under the stars.

The next morning, determined to confront him, she rehearsed giving him a piece of her mind—and maybe even a slap—though she reconsidered, fearing what the outlaws might do. But when she arrived at the clearing, the camp was eerily empty. There were no voices, no movement, just the smoldering ashes of the fire. The sight hit her like a punch to the gut. Despite her anger, she found herself crumpling, tears streaming down her face as the realization settled: Morgan was truly gone. No goodbye, no explanation, no closure. The innocence she'd held only days before, the hope that he might have loved her enough to stay or at least say farewell, shattered.

Even as her tears fell, Lottie couldn't help but imagine him still there. She envisioned him feeding the horses, the clink of his ax splitting wood, the echo of laughter as he played cards with the other men. She could almost see him, his hat tilted low over his face as he napped in the afternoon sun. Walking around the empty clearing, she dreamed of the life she could have had, a life full of adventure, not burdened by society's expectations or her parents' strict rules. She pictured herself fitting into the camp seamlessly, spending days with Morgan and living free under the open sky.

But after that day, Lottie withdrew again. Her spark was dulled, and she drifted through her school days, lost in daydreams of the outlaw life she longed for and the boy who had left a scar on her heart. Her walks with Esther became her only solace. She spoke often of her dream, and Esther listened without tiring, even encouraging Lottie to seek her own path. "Don't worry about me," Esther would say, "I'll find my way out of Tumbleweed, too."

A whole year passed, and still, there was no sign of Morgan or his gang. Lottie's days blended together, a constant cycle of helping her mother sell handmade garments and quietly saving every extra coin she could. Her mother was happy to have Lottie focused and busy, but beneath the surface, Lottie was barely holding on. Her heart still ached with that quiet, nagging hope she couldn't shake, even as everything around her stayed painfully the same.

Each time she managed to stash a little more money under her mattress, she clung to the promise she made herself: one day, she'd leave Tumbleweed for good. But as weeks turned into months with no news of Morgan, doubt crept in. Maybe he really was gone, just a ghost of a dream she'd built up in her mind. Yet even on her hardest days, she couldn't fully let go of what they'd shared—or the dreams he'd made her believe in.

Then, one afternoon, everything changed. Lottie came home after a good day of sales, her hands full of coins that she quickly tucked away in her usual hiding spot. The sky outside was painted in warm, fading hues, and for a moment, the quietness of her little world seemed almost peaceful. But that peace shattered when she walked into the kitchen and found her father ranting over the newspaper.

"Damn ruffians," he grumbled, shaking his head. "They've gone and botched a robbery in Blackwater. Tried to take over a boat, ended up killing people, including some poor young girl accused of helping them. It's chaos out there."

Lottie's heart nearly stopped. "Can I see?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice calm.

Her father handed her the paper, too lost in his own frustrations to notice her shaking hands. Lottie unfolded it slowly, her eyes racing over the words until she saw it: a wanted poster of the camp leader she remembered from a year ago, staring back at her. Her heart pounded in her chest. Blackwater. The gang had been there, and they were still alive. Morgan was still out there somewhere.

She rushed back to her room, clutching the newspaper. Her mind was a storm of emotions—relief, fear, longing. Seeing that face, that proof that the world she'd glimpsed still existed, made everything feel real again. She sat on her bed, the tears finally spilling over. They were still out there, but they'd been caught up in something so dangerous, it made her stomach twist with worry. Yet she couldn't deny the way her heart lifted, even just a little.

That night, Lottie couldn't sleep. She stared at the ceiling, turning everything over in her mind. The memories of Morgan were as vivid as ever: his rough hands, his crooked grin, the way he called her "sweetheart" like it meant something. He'd made her feel alive, given her a glimpse of something more than this quiet, predictable life. She knew she couldn't stay here any longer. She had to find him, or at least try. Even if it was crazy, even if it hurt, she was done waiting around.

By the time the first light of dawn started creeping through her window, Lottie had made up her mind. Tomorrow night, she'd leave. She'd pack her money, whatever she needed, and walk away from Tumbleweed. The world was wild and dangerous, sure, but she was ready. She'd chase her dreams, chase him, and find out where this road led—even if it broke her heart all over again.

Sorry for another kind of boring one. Much love, Jen <3