#sobwip

“Liza,” Rosalind murmured back to her, abandoning her saddlebag on a heap of hay. She approached her girlfriend, hands reaching for her, but Eliza pushed them away from her. “Eliza. Come with me. We’ll ride at dawn-” she paused, desperation heavy on her tongue. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of us. Just think about it, it would just be you, me, and the great open plains.”

Digging around in her jean pockets, Rosalind pulled out a simple gold wedding band. She was waiting for the right time to do it - specifically after they ran off together at the break of dawn - but she needed Eliza to know she meant it. Lowering herself down onto one knee, she felt the sting of fresh tears welling in her eyes. Eliza ceased her pacing. They looked at each other and in that moment the entire world held its breath. “Eliza, I’ve loved you from the moment we first spoke,” Rosalind began, voice wavering. “You are the reason my days have meaning. You are as brilliant as the sun, bringing light and warmth. Like the wildflowers that sprout outside your window, I bloom in your presence.” The next words caught in her throat. A hot tear rolled down her cheek as Eliza covered her mouth in shock. “Would you make me the happiest woman alive, Eliza Carpenter? Allow me to nurture you, take care of you, and dedicate my very life to you?”

The silence hung in the air, tension taut like fresh leather. The only sound in Rosalind’s ear aside from her thrumming heartbeat was Eliza’s soft cries.

“Rosalind, I-” her lover murmured, lips trembling. “I can’t.”

-

Wood squeaked against wood as Rosalind finished rearranging the last of the tables into the center of the room. From her overcoat pocket she unfurled the shittiest map of Godridge she sketched by hand the night before and smoothed it over the top of the tables along with some nubs of colored pencils that she ‘borrowed’ from Clementine’s room back at the Jacobs ranch. 

“Still got that whiskey, Cinda?” Rosalind called over her shoulder, eyeing the squares and lines that made up her map. 

“Yeah and you still got the cash?” Lucinda’s gruff voice crooned from the saloon’s kitchen. “What makes you think Eliza and the rest of ‘em want to see your face again?”

Rosalind snorted, shrugging her overcoat off and depositing it over the back of a worn out chair. “‘Cause who’s gonna turn down booze in this town?”

When the hour to meet came and went, it felt as if the world stood still. The oil lamps on the tabletops filled the saloon with a warm glow, creating a beacon for the rest of the group to follow as night swallowed Goldridge. Rosalind stared at the front door, listening to the maddening tick, tick, tick of Lucinda’s grandfather clock. The whiskey and moonshine bottles sat on top of her map, practically begging to be popped open and swallow her anxieties. 

But before long, the group arrived. 

Su Yang clambered through the door first, dressed in that beautiful ruby gown Rosalind liked so much. In her arm, she dragged a disgruntled Charlie who shot the outlaw with a scowl when they passed her. Anna appeared in the doorway not too long after, following her brother’s lead in side-eyeing Rosalind. They gathered around the table, seemingly in high spirits, though they ignored the woman who had sent for them. Lucinda joined their ranks, pouring generous glasses for everyone.

Rosalind held her breath. They were missing just one crucial piece to this puzzle. Shuffling to the door of the saloon, she stole a peek outside to see if she could make out any other stragglers. The main road of Goldridge offered nothing but the faint sound of jovial piano music from the mayor’s home where Caldwell’s gang partied.

“I hope I’m not too late,” Eliza’s exasperated voice drifted from the back of the saloon. She brushed her brilliant gold hair out of her face before adjusting a sleeping Clementine on her hip. Rosalind’s heart nearly burst and it took every ounce of self control to not run over and envelope the woman in her arms. After their screaming match the other day, she wanted nothing more than to grovel at Eliza’s feet and worship her like the goddess she was.

“Not too late at all,” Rosalind reassured her, flashing her a crooked smile. “Gang’s all here.”

-

“I’m here to make you a deal,” he declared, standing before the town mayor. He held his hat between his fingers, dark hair perfectly coiffed on top of his head. The devil flashed this perfect smile, showing off his pearly whites and dimpled cheeks. 

He promised to make something out of Goldridge - a paradise of rivers teeming with gold. He promised to turn water into wine, dirt into oil, and set the citizens of Goldridge up for generations of wealth and influence. The mayor, with his rose tinted glasses and naivete, eagerly got to work drafting a contract over some cold whiskey and steak. He bargained with the devil through the wee hours of the night, their close friends enjoying themselves in the bustling saloons and at poker tables.

Before any contract could be signed, gunfire rang out from the mayor’s home. The sound pierced the quiet night air of Goldridge. Then another shot rang out, taking the sheriff to an early grave.

By the break of dawn, an entire posse of the devil’s men stormed into the small West Texas town. Most of the townsfolk had little time to prepare. By the time many of them picked up their guns, one of the demons would strike them down.

“Spare the women,” the devil told his men with a sly smile, tossing the torch into the little white chapel just beside the general store. The flames engulfed the wooden structure, licking the steeple and busting out the stained glass windows. “String up the men for all I care.” 

By noon that day, more than half of Goldridge lay dead in the streets. Blood pooled in the trenches made by horse hooves. The chapel, along with the general store and a few homes continued to burn, the smoke billowing into the pretty blue sky above. The survivors cowered, holding one another. Their stomachs lurched every time another shot from a pistol went off. The devil marched across the veranda of the dead mayor’s home, wearing a pristine white suit with flashy gold buttons. He smiled down at the women his crew rounded up, a cruel edge in his pale blue eyes. 

“Fear not,” he spoke, his voice as smooth as ice. “You’re under the protection of Caleb Caldwell now. Your salvation begins here.”

Goldridge was reborn in a matter of hours, screaming and bloodied like a newborn babe, with its devil masquerading as its savior.

-