#zarcake

Arthur was one of the few men in camp you could truly call a friend. He was quiet, thoughtful, considerate - much better company than some of the other drunkards Dutch kept around. "I was wondering," Arthur had taken his hat off and was worrying the brim with his thumbs, "if you would like to come eat with me - just a little ways away from camp." You grinned wide, moving to your feet and placing a hand on Arthur's wrist to get him to keep still. "I'd love to join you, just let me go get Old Girl and meet up with you, okay?" Arthur stopped you before you could turn away, "We can both ride my Dixon… if you want.” It was then that you realized how pink Arthur’s cheeks were, how red he was all over. This must have meant a great deal to him.

Realization settled with a slow smile, and you nodded. “That’s just fine by me.” You tucked your book in your satchel and followed him to where Dixon was hitched.

“What were you reading back there?” Arthur asked as he helped you into the saddle.

“Some silly romance,” you looked down at your hands sheepishly, “I can’t help but see myself as the outlaw. I don’t guess I’m much of a heroine anymore.”

Arthur swung into the saddle behind you, satisfied with whatever he had been packing into the saddlebags. “You’re doing just fine.” His voice was right in your ear, and you couldn’t help the shudder that ran through you at the sound.

You didn’t ride far, just a few miles along the edge of the woods. Arthur urged Dixon to stop at a small clearing tucked just behind the first line of trees. A small stream slowed to a shallow pond along one edge of the clearing, while several large trees shaded the soft grass. Large growths of Spanish moss created soft, gently swaying curtains that caught the light and created an ethereal glow among the branches.

“How did you find this place?” you asked, breathless with awe. It was beautiful.

Arthur hesitated for a moment. “I spend a lot of time riding by myself. It’s always nice to wander, enjoy what the land has to give me.” He dismounted and helped you to the ground as well.

“Thank you for sharing this place with me,” you grabbed Arthur’s hand, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. He cleared his throat and began unpacking the saddlebags.

You wandered around the glen as he laid out a quilt and fetched some canteens and a few wrapped parcels. The moss was soft against your palm, the dirt damp beneath your boots. The thin grass was cool as you yanked some up, letting the blades scatter in the breeze, floating to rest on the smooth surface of the pond. You watched the ripples, strange oblong shapes that bumped into each other again and again.

When you turned, Arthur was sitting on the quilt watching you with a curious expression. You flushed as you realized how childish you must have looked. You took a seat beside him and accepted the venison he offered you.

Arthur had packed quite a bit of food. Meat, cooked vegetables, some canned fruit, and even a few cookies that looked soft and chewy.

“This is quite a spread,” you noted. “Doesn’t look like Pearson’s usual product.”

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. “No, this is straight from the stores of one Susan Grimshaw. She recommended that I take you out somewhere nice for a meal.”

You blinked in surprise. “I can’t believe Mrs. Grimshaw didn’t recommend that you take me to wash Marston’s long johns.” The thought alone made your nose crinkle, and Arthur laughed again. You were glad to see him in high spirits, he usually stormed around with a crease in his brow and anger in his eyes. You knew the work he did for Dutch wasn’t easy… or good.

“Susan’s got a good heart,” Arthur assured you, “and Marston can do his own damn laundry - if he don’t drown in the river trying, that is. Do you know what I heard him telling Jack the other day?”

You shook your head. If there was one thing Arthur loved to do, it was make fun of John.

“Abigail and I come up on the river where John was supposed to be watching Jack, and they’re both poking around in the mud. John is saying ‘well Jack, when tadpoles are ready to become frogs, they build themselves a cocoon underwater and wait to grow legs before they come back out.’” Arthur shook his head as he tried to keep from laughing too hard. “Anyways, Abigail was on him in seconds, snapping at John and desperately trying to reteach Jack before any of that nonsense stuck.”

You tried to hide your grin behind a slice of bread. Arthur held no such courtesy.

“A tadpole? In a cocoon? You’d think the boy was raised by wolves.” He was pounding the dirt with his fist as he shook with laughter.

“I’d say you shoulder some partial responsibility for John’s miseducation,” you pointed out.

Arthur waved his hand, “No, that falls entirely on Dutch. He insisted on molding John into ‘the perfect outlaw.’ Look at him now,” Arthur broke into another fit of laughter, “Frog cocoons!”

You stood your ground in John’s defense. “He’s just trying to do right by Jack. These past few months, he’s really been trying. He’s not the worst father a boy like Jack could have gotten.”

Arthur seemed sobered by your words. “I guess you’re right. He’s been good to Jack since he got back. I can’t fault him for trying.”

The air fell quiet. You noticed Arthur’s expression had grown more somber.

“You’d make a good father,” you said. Arthur looked up in surprise.

“Me? I couldn’t do something like that. I’ve got too much blood on my hands.” He stared at the dirt. Your heart twinged at how empty his voice sounded. You moved in closer, resting a hand on his arm.

“John’s doing it. Hosea raised you just fine. I think you could do it - if you wanted to.”

Arthur turned to face you, and you tried to pull away. You were too close. He held you still with a hand on your waist.

“Thank you,” he said. You closed your eyes, and Arthur’s lips brushed yours. He pulled away suddenly. When you looked, he had tucked his face into his arm.

“I’m sorry,” his voice wavered a bit as he apologized. “That was very… forward of me.”

“Arthur,” you placed a hand on his cheek, guiding his gaze back to you, “it’s okay.”

You kissed him gently, brushing your thumb along his jaw as he froze, and then relaxed under your touch.