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journal-of-an-outlaw · 4 years

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Price to be Paid - Chapter 28

Link to AO3 here Back at camp Arthur paced the length of the house until you returned.

His mood was sour and he took that out on anyone who approached him, trying his best to distract himself from the harm that Micah could do to you in a few short hours. Karen nearly bit his head off from how many times he asked her if she had heard anything while on guard duty and John finally took him out fishing to think about something else. Jack tagged along and finally calmed Arthur down until he heard the sound of your wagon approaching and he nearly sprinted to the front of the house, knowing he wouldn't be satisfied until he had eyes on you.

“YN! You okay? Nothin’ happened?” Arthur’s voice was thick with worry. When he got emotional his accent became more pronounced and your heart contracted at the pain he had held inside.

“Jesus Arthur,” Micah called down from the wagon. “You make it sound like I would do something to hurt her. We got along just fine, didn’t we Ms. Moore?”

You nodded and accepted Arthur’s help climbing down. His eyes roamed over you and once you passed the inspection he pressed a kiss to your forehead, hands clasped tightly on your shoulders.

The trip with Micah had rattled you. When he got back from his meeting he was chipper but refused to talk about it, saying that once things played out it would be a big score and Dutch would finally be happy. The thought of bringing in a lot of money to the gang excited you and you hoped it would play out, but a nagging feeling in the back of your mind kept you from speaking about it. Not many ideas from Micah seemed to go as planned but you held out a last thread of hope. You knew Arthur was no fan of him but you were determined to give him a chance, especially because he had the power to change your future as a part of the gang with just a few words.

That thought lingered with you for days as you walked around camp. You sat with Mary Beth one afternoon reading but the words slipped away from you and you finally shut your book out of frustration.

“Can’t focus?” She asked sweetly. You shook your head and stared off to the swamps from your table on the side of Shady Belle. “I get that way sometimes too. Stuck in my daydreams or lost in a memory. Everything alright with you?”

You sighed. “Yes, just distracted. All this going on lately I can’t help thinking about how simple things used to be. We’ve lost so much, I can’t stop thinking about Kieran.”

Mary Beth’s eyes cut to the floor as she hid the flash of pain. “He was a sweet soul and deserved more. I think about him too, how he loved working with horses, he wanted to read and I think Hosea wanted to teach him. He knew about me liking, well, you know,” she cast you a hesitant glance, “and never said a mean word about it. Between you and me, Dutch was too hard on him for too long. They strung him up like a criminal for a crime he never committed.”

You chatted with Mary Beth until Tilly joined you, resting with her face warming in the midday sun. She and Mary Beth exchanged a knowing smile and you remembered what you had seen behind the house. It wasn’t your place to ask but you were bursting to know. Luckily Sean found his way over to the group and distracted you before your curiosity got too out of control.

“Who’s up for a round of dominoes?” He was met with an unenthusiastic greeting and scoffed. “Ladies, we can make this interesting now! Maybe put some cash on the table?” Tilly perked up at that and Sean divided the tiles between you to get the game started.

“We can play Sean, let’s just get started!” Mary Beth laughed as her friend grabbed her tiles, eager to get started.

After five games it was evident that TIlly was superior to all three of you as she wiped the floor and took home all the cash you had given. Her prize was a meager three dollars but she held it like it was one hundred as she flaunted it on the way to dinner. Camp was slow and Grimshaw hadn’t even bothered to yell at you about chores.

Charles plopped down next to you with a grunt as he shoveled in his potatoes and beef. Someone snuck some spices into the meat and there was a small suspicion that it was Grimshaw but she snapped when John asked her and told him to shut up and eat.

“How have you been Charles? We haven’t had a lot of time to talk lately,” you asked between bites of dinner.

“Good. Working a few leads I found with Hosea and Sean, although both of them talk much more than I’d like.” He held his spoon above the plate for a moment before continuing. “I wanted to ask you something. You and Arthur met some of the tribe nearby, is that right?”

“The chief Rains Fall and his son Eagle Flies, yes. Do you know them?”

He hesitated before speaking. “No. But I want to. Are you meeting with them again anytime soon?”

You told Charles about the plan to help steal the documents for Rains Fall and why the government wanted the tribe’s land. He grew tense through your conversation but you knew it was directed at the injustices the group had faced and the lack of action that could be taken. Native Americans had been treated unfairly for years but no one who thought it was wrong could do much about it, the government was in control. And no one could fight that.

“I see why Arthur doesn’t want you to go with him. Maybe I could help him find the document.”

“What are you two talking about?” Arthur asked as he sat down next to you, placing a lazy kiss to your temple. He looked tired but you were unsure of where he had been most of the day.

“Charles wants to come with us to meet Rains Fall and Eagle Flies,” you explained.

Arthur looked between you and Charles. “I think that’s a good idea. Robing Cornwall shouldn’t be a one man job. You know I’ll always ride with you, Charles.”

Your friend beamed in the subtle way only Charles knew how. To anyone else he probably looked unphased by the compliment, but his eyes shone with pride and he breathed a bit easier after his request was approved. The three of you enjoyed your meal together and watched the sky transition from blue to pink to black. The stars twinkled above and you remembered sleeping out in the grass back at Horseshoe Overlook and how they signalled to you the first time in your life the sweet taste of freedom.

Arthur figured you all should head out early the next morning so he turned in and you followed him. Abigail stopped you in the hallway to chat and you felt a thread of guilt pull in your stomach. It had been ages since the two of you just talked and relaxed but Arthur was impatient to get some rest and lightly squeezed your elbow after a moment. Abigail saw and brushed off her questions, saying Jack was tired and needed sleep before closing the door to her room. You knew the gang as a whole came first but you missed your friend.

By the time you shut the door behind you Arthur was in bed waiting. “C’mere darlin’, I’ve missed you.”

After slipping into your nightgown you crawled into his waiting arms and snuggled up, appreciating the way he laughed and how his whole chest seemed to rumble. “Where were you today?”

“Scouting,” Arthur sighed as he ran a hand over his tired face. “Dutch wants to make sure our routes for this bank job are secure. Honestly, the whole thing seems elaborate and anything could go wrong, something just don’t feel right about it.”

“Have you told him this?” You sat up on your elbows and looked down as Arthur stretched out on his back.

“No, he’d just say I need to have faith. It’s mostly Hosea’s plan anyways and his are alway good. Dutch hasn’t been the same since that trolley incident, keeps muttering about getting revenge on Bronte for setting them up.”

“I forgot it was Bronte who told him about it with all that’s going on,” you said honestly.

“Me too,” Arthur sighed and leaned back into the small bed. “Just hard knowing you and I might...leave soon. I’m not the biggest fan of going to Tahiti.”

You nodded along with him slowly. Dutch seemed so determined lately about this bank job. It must have been all he thought about because it was all he talked about and even Hosea had become annoyed with his constant badgering to make every little detail perfect.

“Arthur, I want a life with you. I want land that we can grow on, and a house we can build, and dogs, and kids.” You held his cheek in your hand gently. “I don’t think we can wait forever, and neither of us are young enough to continue going on fuelled by a dream. We’re engaged but there’s a couple other steps we should probably take sooner rather than later.”

Arthur watched you thoughtfully, tracing his fingers back and forth across your arm as it rested on his chest. Sometimes he didn’t respond right away but it was never for a lack of thought, he usually wanted to process his reply before voicing it.

“Alright. But let’s take it one step at a time.”

“You mean it?” You shot up and he laughed lightly. “I mean, I know you want these things. That’s not what I’m saying. I just...sometimes we don’t talk about it and I worry you’ve changed your mind. That being with me was rushed and if you put it off long enough you won’t have to -”

Arthur promptly cut you off with a kiss. One hand held you steady against his chest and the other wound into your hair, pushing your fears out of your mind. You moved up to straddle his hips and felt that knowing desire build in your stomach as you ground your hips against his.

“Sweetheart,” Arthur laughed into your mouth. “We have to get up early.”

“Then let’s be quick!” You countered.

Arthur couldn’t find a good enough reason to argue he surrendered. After a short but vigorous session your body came back to itself and you rolled down next to Arthur and he swirled small patterns into your back with his fingertips, sending you into a deep sleep.

The dreams you had were strange. Flames engulfed a home and for some reason it broke your heart, bringing you to your knees as you sobbed over the loss of something you couldn't quite place. Someone shouted for you in a small, high pitched voice and a child ran at you, only to turn into smoke and vanish sending you into another wave of agony. Suddenly the scenery changed and you were in a field of stunning purple flowers that rose to your hips. They were soft to the touch and left a light film on your hands. The dress you wore was covered in the dust and you ran through the never ending field. The same voice from before called to you, shouting to find it and you took off, laughing and smiling as wide as you could. After that you don’t remember much but it was nice to have the dream end on a happy note.

Arthur shook your shoulders awake just as the sun crept over the horizon. All lingering thoughts from your dreams were gone and you dressed quickly before following him out. Charles was waiting for you with a quick meal on the front porch, and you noticed he had his hair tied up in a different style than you were used to seeing. As soon as you and Arthur finished eating you left, horses eager to run and a long stretch of road ahead of you.

It was a long ride but Arthur and Charles were relentless. You only stopped for breaks when you came across streams, and as you traveled north again the air became crisper and your head felt clearer, the humidity finally leaving the air.

“We’re almost there, how’re you holding up?” Arthur called out.

Charles just nodded and you voiced you were good to push on. Eclipse didn’t put up much of a fight and seemed to enjoy galloping over the green hills and through the trees. Everything around looked full of life and eager for spring to come along.

After another long stretch of silence, the scenery changed to more rocks jutting up out of the ground. It felt more familiar than the swamps did and Arthur led the group off the path and up to a ledge where Rains Fall and Eagle Flies waited.

“We must be near Valentine,” you asked as you dismounted Eclipse. Your leg muscles gave out momentarily from sitting wide for so long.

Charles looked around. “Near. Another hour or two and we’d be back at Horseshoe Overlook, but the oil fields here are dead center of the plains.”

“You came.” The voice startled the three of you. Eagle Flies sounded surprised like he didn’t expect the help to actually arrive. Arthur looked confused but Charles nodded.

“‘Course I came, I said I would.” He knelt down next to the father and son and motioned to you. “You remember my fiance, YN Moore. This is my good friend Charles Smith, he was eager to come and help out too, he can be trusted.”

Rains Fall shook his hand heartily and waved Charles to sit near him. You crouched down next to Eagle Flies who gave you a curt nod.

“There’s a foreman, his name is Danbury. He has the files in his office above the refinery room.” He passed a pair of binoculars so Arthur could get a layout of the factory on the ground below. “It’s that window there with the blinds drawn up.”

“I see it,” Arthur grunted.

“If the files are as incriminating as we believe, Mr. Cornwall’s men will destroy them if they know you’re coming.”

“There’s only one of me, son,” Arthur replied back to Eagle Flies. “I don’t intend for them to know I’m coming. What will the files say?”

“They’ll be a report from Leland Oil Development Company.” Eagle Flies and Arthur continued to discuss tactics for sneaking in and out of the factory so you moved to stand near Rains Fall and Charles.

“My mother, actually. She was from up north, but my father was black. When she passed away he turned to drink. I ran away from the reservation and lived out on my own.”

“I understand,” Rains Fall said thoughtfully. “It’s hard to be apart from one’s tribe. Family is important, but a tribe is more than that.”

Charles nodded along and you could see why he wanted to come. Meeting people who reminded you of home always made you feel grounded, and for a group always on the run that was important.

Arthur waved as he headed down the hill. Eagle Flies explained the plan to have him hide in a wagon to gain entrance as they had been rolling in and out all day so there should be no problem. You watched him approach a boulder before moving out of sight. Less than ten minutes passed until a wagon rolled by and he jumped into the back, lighting fast. The driver took no mind of the extra weight and continued on down the path and through the gate.

“He made it,” Eagle Flies let out a sigh of relief.

You hadn’t taken much time to study the younger man during your first meeting but figured there would be plenty of time while you waited for Arthur to return. He greatly resembled his father both in appearance as well as manners, but he moved in a much more decisive way. His actions were taken without thought and he was passionate about his people. In some ways it reminded you of Javier.

“So Charles, what brought you to us?” Rains Fall asked your friend.

The two of them talked while you watched the factory from the ridge, looking for any alarms of sense that the workers had found Arthur lurking in their midst. Eagle Flies told you he would be fine but stood with the same rigid back and unwavering gaze. Men walked by the windows but you never saw Arthur.

“What do you plan on doing with the report?” you asked to pass the time.

Eagle Flies hesitated for a moment and his eyes flickered to you. Part of you wondered if he saw the small shared heritage inside of you.

“That’s up to my tribe and my father. Not for outsiders to know,” he spoke bluntly.

“Ah. I didn’t mean to pry, just curious.”

“It’s the same curiosity from outsiders that drives us off our land time and time again. I’ve watched well meaning people come and go, while others stay and when we need help those same people are nowhere to be found. It’s a cycle, one that’s hard to break.” His eyes stayed solely on the building as he brushed you off. A cold pit settled in your stomach at his response.

“I’m sorry Eagle Flies. I won’t pry,” you said softly. You knew how much they had been through and your heart ached at how all of this was an act of desperation to save a group of people and a way of life. No one should have to worry that they were being erased but the living proof stood in front of you.

The next half an hour passed by in silence. No alarms were set off at the factory and you stood still, listening for anything that would signal something had gone wrong.

“He should be back by now. Are you sure he’s as good as he says he is?” Eagle Flies sound louder. His words caught the attention of Charles and Rains Fall who drew their eyebrows together.

“Maybe he needs a distraction to cover his exit,” you suggested. “This is an oil factory. I’m sure accidents happen all the time and things catch fire.”

The men started at you as they processed the suggestion. Charles stood and checked his saddle bags on Tamia for supplies before pulling out three sticks of dynamite, handing one to you and one to Eagle Flies.

“We go in quick, aim for something on the outside edge. If Arthur needs cover we need to draw the men away from that room,” Charles pointed to the foreman’s room. “You’re right. He should be out by now so let’s give him some help.”

Rains Fall agreed to meet the group farther away and took off in a separate direction than the three of you rode in. Your stomach gnawed with worry that you were going in prematurely but it was of absolute importance that Arthur wasn’t caught. Blowing up oil cans would take awhile to clean up so hopefully he could find the file quickly.

Eagle Flies handed you the reigns of Zeus and pointed to the can he wanted to target. It was out of the line of sight of the foreman’s window but near enough that Arthur would notice. He lit his stick of dynamite, threw with impressive aim, and waited. The anticipation built as the seconds passed. You could faintly hear the buzz as the fuse burnt down to the stick and readied yourself to hold Eclipse below you and Zeus beside you steady.

The explosion was incredible.

You could feel the air rush past you as the canister blew, chunks of metal flying in every direction. Immediately there were shouts from all over the yard and you tried to prepare your stick, but Charles whistled as you struggled juggling two horses, a stick of dynamite, and a flint stick to light it and you threw it to him unlit. He aimed his own at another barrel and started to look around for Arthur.

“YN, over there! Go meet him so we can get out of here!” You took off like a bullet at the sound of Charles’ command. The horses were already jumpy and wanting to leave but you knew your goal.

“Arthur!” You screamed over the chaos boiling around you. He had thrown open a window in the foreman’s office and noticed you, waving. He slid down the roof and hit the ground with a roll, sprinting across the grass to meet you. A few men from the factory tried to stop him but Arthur shot them with exceptional aim and cleared his path to you.

“What in the hell is going on!” His face was evident with panic and you waved to ride the opposite way of the third boom as it rang out.

“We were worried you needed some cover to escape. We blew a few of their barrels.” A fourth explosion shook the ground and you looked around confused. Charles only had three sticks with him.

Arthur let out a strange laugh at your words and reached down to pat Zeus on the neck as the horse galloped over the landscape. “Danbury took longer than I thought to give me the repost. But Jesus, YN, that was one hell of an exit. You couldn't find anything else to give me a bit of cover?”

“I never said it was a great idea, but it did the job!” You shouted back through the wind.

Arthur snorted as he laughed again. The absurdity of it all got to you too and you joined him laughing as you rode up to the point you had arranged with Charles and Eagle Flies. Looking back at the factory the fire had spread to the wooden building and men scrambled to put it out with buckets of water. Eagle Flies, Rains Fall, and Charles soon joined you on the hilltop. They had to take a longer route than planned due to the fire exploding barrels in their way.

“You get the document?” Eagle Flies asked eagerly. Rains Fall smiled at his son’s attitude but watched Arthur intently.

“Sure did. Here, I expect you’ll want this for safekeeping. Thank you for helping my fiance with exploding those barrels, that came just in time.” Arthur handed over the file and Rains Fall briefly scanned it before tucking it away.

“I was happy to watch some of that oil burn. So you met Mr. Danbury?”

Arthur chuckled and looped his thumbs through his belt. “Yes, don’t worry. He was very obliging. I thought you wasn’t getting involved though?”

“I thought you would enter and leave silently,” Eagle Flies replied with resentment in his voice.

“Thank you,” Arthur took a breath. “You saved my life.”

Eagle Flies nodded and relaxed his stance. “I hope...well, I don’t know what I hope. But who knows, maybe this will be of some use.” He reached into his saddle back and pulled out a stack of bills. “Here’s your money.”

You and Charles exchanged a look. You both knew Arthur had no right to accept that money. It wouldn't be right to take it from the struggling group. Just as you were about to speak Arthur replied, “You know I ain’t going to take that. Now go on, get out of here before someone sees you.”

Eagle Flies kept his eyes on the man before him in case he changed his mind, but after a moment nodded and climbed up on his horse solemnly. You walked up beside Arthur and squeezed his hand in appreciation, your heart swelling at the gesture.

“They’re already struggling enough, they need that money. Thank you Arthur,” Charles spoke from behind you.

Arthur brushed off the words and suggested camping out as the sky above you was already dark. You brought no supplies and didn’t relish the thought of sleeping on the ground but there was no other argument. Heading back to camp would take half the night.

You built a small fire and Charles caught some rabbits for dinner. Arthur helped skin and cook them and soon enough you were nearly asleep gazing into the small flames. Arthur took his bedroll and called goodnight to Charles who agreed to the first watch before lying down next to you, pulling you in tight to his chest. You listened to his breathing settle and soon joined him in sleep, hoping for more dreams of beautiful flowers.

On the ride back to camp an old blind man on the side of the road was begging for money and you stopped to hand him the few dollars you had on you. He had a kind, wrinkled face from weathering the elements and standing out in the sun all day that smiled when you approached. As you transferred the money to him he grabbed your hand, holding tight.

“Beware the rook. His movements around the board are wild and unknown to any but himself.” The strange words chilled you but you smiled and took your hand back as the blind man released it, thanking you for your contribution.

As you climbed back up on Eclipse the words rattled around in your mind. What did he mean? Rook? Wasn’t that a chess piece? Arthur broke your train of thought with a question and you continued the ride home.

The gang was glad you were back and asked plenty of questions but you, Arthur, and Charles had decided it was best to keep where you had been quiet as it could draw more attention and harm to the group. You almost asked where Kieran was as he usually rushed forward to tend to the horses after a long ride, but your heart plummeted to your stomach as you remembered. Eclipse was happy to have you care for her and whinied as you brushed her down.

Dutch barked for Arthur to talk with him shortly after you got back and he rolled his eyes before joining him. The older man clapped his hand across Arthur’s shoulders and led him out of sight, leaving you and Charles to care for the horses.

“You notice…” Charles began before stopping and shaking his head.

You guessed where he was going with his question and replied quietly. “Dutch changing? Ever since the trolley incident something’s been off. Arthur mentioned it too.”

“I’d never go against him, I owe him my life. Truly. But I am worried. Sometimes hitting your head like that changes a person.” Charles finished brushing Tamia before starting on Zeus.

“He’s obsessed with revenge. I hear him mutter about Bronte setting them up, and whenever Molly approaches all hell breaks loose. Hosea seems to be the only one who is able to calm him down and bring him back to some kind of normal, but he worries me too.” You leaned against the wooden railing and felt the sun’s rays warm your face.

“We shouldn’t bring this up to anyone else. I don’t want Dutch to think we’re going behind his back and betraying him,” Charles spoke quietly. He stood next to you and looked around the group with a critical eye.

“Of course.” With that the two of you headed back into camp and greeted your friends before settling in.

Things at Shady Belle had come to a kind of stand still. Sure, there were hunting parties that went out every few days and people went into town for supplies, but there wasn’t much that needed to be done around the house in terms of improvement. It drove Grimshaw crazy. She looked for any excuse to have someone help with chores but most of the days were spent in the sun relaxing and talking with others.

Finally you and Abigail got some time to spend together as you took Jack to a nearby field to pick flowers. Ever since he and Arthur went fishing all that time ago the young boy was eager to braid the stems together and create jewelry for folks around camp to wear. His favorite were red flowers, but the white field held his attention plenty well.

“Seems like forever since we’ve had a chance to just sit and talk,” you said as Abigail found a suitable shaded spot to rest and watch Jack.

“I know,” she sighed. “It’s been tense with nothing to do. Like we’re some farm animals just waiting to be slaughtered. We know something’s happening but couldn’t tell you when.”

You laughed at the description. “Well, that makes an interesting image. I’m worried though, everyone seems to be on edge all the time. Fretting over one thing or another, but mostly what happens next.”

“That’s always the hardest part. We wear out our welcome so fast and it’s always some big dramatic exit. John thinks we won’t be here much longer, way things are going.”

“You two getting along?” Abigail nodded earnestly.

“Most of the time. When he’s stressed he likes to think alone, but lately he’s been better. Talking and spending time with Jack,” she waved to her son running through the field. “I think losing him shocked him into being a real father. Well, as much as a father Marston could be.”

You were silent for a moment, watching the breeze draw lazy patterns across the flower tops. John and you had never gotten along as well as most of the others but that was to be expected. There were a lot of strong personalities and with so many people not everyone could be the best of friends. You just hoped it would never affect your relationship with Abigail in any capacity.

“I know you’re just looking out for me,” Abigail interrupted your thoughts. “But really, I’m fine.”

“Just checking! My best friend only deserves the best,” you teased and threw a handful of grass. Abigail shrieked as it snaked down her dress and stood up, jumping to try and shake it out. You leaned back, laughing and enjoying the afternoon sun.

A voice from the main road broke through the clearing and the mood changed in an instant. Abigail whistled for Jack and he ran silently into her arms. She held him against her tightly and motioned for you to follow her back into the trees and out of sight.

The sounds of two voices from horseback floated in. Men, moving slowly; no rush to move quickly through the heat and make it to Saint Denis. They came to a point in the road where they were visible and you could see them clearly. One sat tall upon a grey horse wearing a white button up and a blue vest, and the other rode a night black horse and wore black jeans with a white top. The second man fanned himself with a wide brimmed hat, and from your hiding spot you could see the glint of a badge pinned to his chest.

Cornelius Staten. You were sure of it.

His voice moved through you like a crack of lightning, but a rage bubbled up the surface to meet it. You were stuck, knowing anything you did to give you away would instantly put Abigail and Jack in harm’s way.

“I’ve never been round this way myself, have you Robert?” His voice was just as you had remembered it, grand and round with a slight drawl.

“Nah,” his partner replied. “I usually stick north for these jobs. Easy to see the family when I can that way.”

Cornelius nodded. “Wish I could say the same. It’s not easy for a man of color to pass through here unharmed, we’ll have to keep our wits about us. Trouble could lurk around any corner.”

“Ain’t that why we’re here? To cause trouble and find the Van der Li -”

“Keep your voice down, please!” Cornelious spoke curtly. “We don’t want to go spooking them off if they hear us, big mouth of yours. It’s a nasty business we got ourselves into and I’d rather we keep it civil.”

His companion clicked his tongue. “Aye, it’s rough. I’ll watch my volume, just as long as…”

And with that they rode out of hearing. You locked eyes with Abigail and held them for minutes after the men passed by.

They were here. And they were coming.

It was all your fault.

As you ran back to camp, the two of you fumbled through the dry, hot fields in a desperate attempt to reach the idea of safety. Jack clung to Abigail and she hushed him every time he made a fuss. Dust swirled around your ankles as you fought to keep your heart from beating out of your chest.

“YN, wait,” Abigail panted after a few minutes of running. “I think we lost them.”

“Abigail, we have to tell Dutch what we heard,” you panted back.

“Why?” Jack squirmed down from her arms and sat on the hard ground. “Plenty of lawmen are after us. We run all the time, Dutch knows the price for his actions. As long as they didn’t see us, I reckon we’re fine. Just need to be more careful from now on.”

The indifference from Abigail threw you off guard. Did she not realize what this meant? That there was some secret thread tying you to that man on the horse. It also connected Dutch and your father, although that was still too tangled to think about.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t say anything?”

Abigail wrapped her small hand around the curve of your cheek and patted softly. “If we ran every time something went wrong, we’d never get to enjoy the freedom we’ve earned after all of these years.”

Back at camp it was like nothing had changed. No one cared about two women and a child who had spent the day skirting chores that didn’t need doing. You found Arthur resting on the porch with Sadie and you plopped down next to the two of them.

“You look like you need a drink, YN,” Sadie rasped at you. You simply grunted in return and Arthur caught your eye with a question.

“Nah, I’m just tired. Of doing nothing, how silly is that,” you laughed. It sounded hollow even to you.

Arthur’s brow furrowed and he stood up, offering you his hand. He suggested you take a walk and Sadie waved you off as you left the porch and slowly made your way around the side of Shady Belle.

“What’s on your mind, darlin’? You look like something’s bothering you.”

“It’s nothing I guess, Abigail said not to worry about it.” You looked up into those trusting blue eyes and melted. Damn your weak resolve around that man. “We went for a walk with Jack, just to relax and get away for an hour or two when two men rode by and we...we heard them say they were looking for Dutch and the rest of the gang and we ran. Don’t you think we should say something to him?”

Arthur stopped and pulled you in close. You could feel his head turn to make sure no one was around before speaking in a low tone, “Dutch ain’t quite right, something happened when he hit his head on that damn trolley. Hosea and I’ve been talking. He’s more violent and lashes out at folks when they ask simple questions. Poor Molly’s been taking the brunt of it and locked herself away in that room. If something like what you said happened I think it’s best we don’t tell him just yet.”

“Oh, Arthur…”

“I know,” he sighed. “I love him like a brother, but that man ain’t the one who raised me. It took me a while to see it but today he yelled at Marston for something that happened when he was a child. He acted like it was yesterday.”

You stared at Arthur and wondered if that was really the event that showed him who Dutch had become. It was more likely a gradual thing, the accident had been weeks ago. You hoped for everyone’s sake Dutch was able to heal and things would turn for the better.

The next morning you woke up in a sweat. You blinked away the sleep from your eyes and at first thought it was a bad dream that had caused the perspiration, but within minutes you were sweltering. Spring had finally arrived and the heat in the south was higher than ever. Arthur grumbled besides you and you woke him to start the day.

It seemed like you would be sitting around camp again, helping when you could so you chose a skirt to wear. It was looser than your pants and you hoped would cool you down when the sun peaked in the middle of the day.

Javier nodded as you sat nearby. He somehow held a cup of steaming coffee in his hands like his beverage didn’t match the outside heat and you felt warmer from just looking at it.

“How can you drink that?” You thought out loud.

Javier looked at you surprised and laughed. “I grew up in Mexico. Sure, this is some heat but it’s nothing like what I learned to adjust to. Just ignore it and you’ll be fine soon.”

Charles called for him across the yard and he tipped his hat at you before leaving. “Just ignore it…” you muttered and fanned yourself with your hand.

“Arthur!”

The voice came from upstairs in the house and you looked around for your fiance. Arthur raised his head but waited to see what they wanted.

“Arthur, come up here!”

Dutch emerged from his room to stand on the balcony, observing his people below. It was the first time you had seen him in days but he looked surprisingly good. His hair was combed and slicked back and his clothes were clean and pressed. He waved at Arthur and signalled you up as well with a smile on his face. Arthur led the way as you walked through the house, whispering about what it is the older man could want. Mary Beth smiled at you from the sitting room as she tore her way through another novel.

Dutch had lit a cigar in the time it took you to walk up the stairs and puffed it proudly. His smile lit up and the tension ran down and off your back as the old Dutch stood before you. Hosea had joined him, leaning back against the chipped white railing and waiting for your approach.

“So, Arthur. You get the deciding vote.” Hosea smiled at you as he spoke.

“‘Bout what,” Arthur grunted.

Dutch turned to fully face him, his eyes lit up. “We take an insult and scurry off like cockroaches, or deal with business the right way.”

It was clear what Dutch wanted Arthur to say. His tone dipped to being more serious as his sentence continued and he winked, nudging Arthur to pick the right choice.

“We don’t need to take revenge,” Hosea intervened. “We hardly know the guy.”

“This ain’t about revenge, Hosea,” Dutch spoke frankly. “Angelo Bronte don’t mean shit to me. This is about the fact that we are planning to rob a bank in his town. A bank that he, no doubt, protects. A town where his men are gunning for us. Before we do that, we need to put him out of commission.”

Your eyebrows raised at Dutch’s words. He meant to get revenge on Bronte for the trolly station set up, and it sounded like he meant to kill.

Hosea, the voice of reason, spoke up. “I disagree, there’s always an easier way.”

“There ain’t no easier way!” Dutch replied. He was getting more upset by the moment but you had never seen him truly fight with Hosea. Everything that was said could be taken back or modified after their years spent running together. “Now, I know his type. He is a vindictive little power broker who rules by fear. We pull that stunt in his cess pitl of a town and we’re doomed. You wanna leave this place?”

Dutch directed the question at Arthur who had been nodding along. He froze at the words and you could almost feel his worry that Dutch knew your plan to eventually leave the gang, but knew he was speaking about Shady Belle.

“You want to leave this country? We need that money.”

“It just don’t feel good, Dutch,” Hosea sighed.

Dutch pulled himself upright and spread his arms to take up more space. The light returned to his eyes as he dreamed and spoke, oozing charisma. “This is it. This is the last job that we are ever going to pull. Before the year is out, we’re going to be harvesting mangoes in Tahiti. We’ll be building on our own spot of land, free at last from all our ties here.”

His eyes cut to yours on the last few words and you nodded to him.

“But we need seed capital, and we need to leave,” Hosea started to interrupt but Dutch continued anyways. “You know it! I know it!”

“Forgive me if I can’t think too much about the mango harvest -”

“This is it.” Dutch had always been a powerful leader. Watching him speak with such passion ignited a spark, even if you did consider yourself immune to his charms. The way he spoke and the things he said were intoxicating, but even the most potent flower could turn sour after too much exposure. “Trust me.”

Arthur stood still leaning against the wall. He was taking everything in, and the two men knew it. Dutch turned to you with eager eyes.

“YN, you’re a bright woman. What are your thoughts?” Dutch had never asked you so plainly to contribute and you felt honored. The choice however...it made you feel uneasy.

“I’m not casting my vote on a man’s life, Dutch. Even if he’s wronged us there must be another way to secure that money.”

Dutch watched you with a blank expression and nodded slightly before turning back to Arthur. Hosea winked at you behind the older man’s back.

“If it’s business,” Arthur ran a hand over his face while he spoke slowly. “Business is business.”

“What?” you cried out, appalled at his answer. But Dutch clapped Arthur on the shoulder and turned him to start walking back inside the house. You were frozen on the spot at Arthur’s words.

“Angelo Bronte stands between us and our future, nothing can stop us,” Dutch called back to you and Hosea.

As a last parting shot Hosea raised his voice and said, “You’ll damn us all,” to which Dutch mostly ignored.

Arthur turned back and gave you a look, but in that moment you didn’t know what it meant. You had watched Dutch seduce Arthur with the temptation of keeping others safe many times, but killing a man mostly for petty revenge was too far. You had to find a better way to protect those you loved.

#price to be paid #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #fanfic #I can't believe it's this long haah #if anyone has ideas for how it ends #shoot me a message

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pho---to---graph · 3 years

Text

Henry Fox Talbot – The Haystack

Posted on July 7, 2015 by Steve Middlehurst In April 1844 William Henry Fox Talbot set up a camera loaded with light sensitive paper and photographed (i) a haystack on his country estate at Lacock Abbey in Wiltshire. The haystack had presumably been constructed in the summer of 1843 but as we have no clue to its original size we cannot tell if it has been used to feed livestock all winter or only recently opened. A ladder leans against the stack, blocks are obviously being cut starting from the top down and we can see that the hay knife has been left high in the stack to the left of the ladder (ii). We can see how the stack has been designed with an undercut to minimise rising damp and painstakingly thatched to protect the valuable crop from the rain. Another thatched roof can be seen behind the stack but this looks more likely to be a barn. I partly chose this image because I lived in rural Italy for a number of years and stacks not dissimilar to this still exist in the mountains of Abruzzo, I found an ancient hay knife in the outbuildings of the house we lived in. This, of course provides a punctum (1) in this photograph that is quite personal to me.

Overall the composition has a strong geometry with the bright ladder and its dark shadow providing contrast to the mid-tones of the hay. The Haystack is a study of light, tone and texture with the shadows of the ladder, the eaves of the thatch and the undercut all playing important roles in defining the significant and detailed forms in the scene. The dark leaves overhead provide a contrasting backdrop to the stack.

Such a stack would have been common place in rural England in the 1840s, unremarkable, probably identical to many other stacks in the Lacock area if not on the estate itself. This leads me to wonder why Fox Talbot photographed this particular stack, what did he want to communicate to his audience and who did he perceive that audience to be? Because this is a well know photograph, one of a series that Fox Talbot published in The Pencil of Nature in 1844 (2) (iii), it has been analysed, considered, critiqued and interpreted for over 175 years.

In fact it was whilst quite casually turning the pages of Ian Jeffrey’s How to Read a Photograph (3) that I paused to read his interpretation of The Haystack and began to think about the variety of ways in which we can read this calotype and how those readings have probably changed over time. It is interesting to consider such an old image in this way because, whilst we feel compelled to label it, there were no strongly established photographic genres in 1844 and no history of this type of image to speak of so Fox-Talbot only saw his work in the context of his drawing, his scientific research (iv) and as a commercial opportunity. He did refer to his calotypes as Art saying in his introduction to The Pencil of Nature that the book is a “first attempt to exhibit an Art of so great a singularity” and refers to the process as “Photogenic Drawing” (v) but I cannot shake off the feeling that the practical process or the commercial potential was more interesting to him than the end result.

Fox Talbot, like many educated men of his time, maintained regular correspondence with contacts all over Europe and from the letters held in the De Montford University archive (5) it is possible to find many references to his photographic work but the ones I found (vii) were predominantly practical, or scientific in nature; and perhaps not surprisingly he was very interested in arguing the advantages of his Calotype process over the Daguerreotype. The discussions he was engaged in rarely touched upon the aesthetics of his or other photographer’s work and one letter from Fox Talbot to William Jerdan, the Editor of the Literary Gazette (vi), is particularly revealing; he wrote “The Complexity of the Art requires a division of labour; one person should invent new processes while another puts in execution those already ascertained, but hitherto I have been the chief operator myself in the different branches of the invention.”

We do know that Pencil of Nature is as much a catalogue as a photo book. Fox talbot selected subjects that showed the potential uses of photography; a photograph of his china collection is accompanied by a text explaining how this would help recover them if they were stolen, the leaf of a plant is contact printed as a botanical specimen, and the haystack is included to show how well photography could record “a multitude of minute details which add to the truth and reality of the representation, but which no artist would take the trouble to copy faithfully from nature.” He also places some photographs into the context of schools of painting, his famous Open Door is referenced to the “Dutch school of art”. All of which supports Gerry Badger’s description of the book as “an advertisement, a calling card, an experiment, a history, an aesthetic achievement and a manifesto” (6).

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Ian Jeffrey looking at The Haystack with a post modern eye suggests that the ladder has been placed here to provide human scale, “it serves as an attribute, making practical sense of the haystack”. He goes on to say that the sparse composition leaves the audience focusing on the items that are there so the ladder becomes suggestive of Jacob’s ladder which reached from earth to heaven. All valid points from a highly respected critic; I don’t see the ladder as being “placed” by the photographer, it is logical to me that it has been left here from the last time they cut into the hay which also explains why the hay knife has been left so high on the stack. I didn’t find the ladder suggestive of anything other than a practical way of accessing the hay.

When Fox Talbot photographed The Haystack, his intent appears to have been to show how his new process could capture the infinite detail in a large and recognisable object. He created a pleasing composition and may or may not have had one of his farm labourers bring a ladder and hay knife into the scene to add human scale or human interest. His message was primarily concerned with the functionality of the Calotype; his audience was probably a mixture of the scientific establishment, the British artists he hoped would “assist the enterprise” and the middle-class buyers who, not being able to afford a Constable, might buy a Fox Talbot instead.

Jeffrey sees the photograph as an example of the conceptual game “in which one step forward delivers things and words and one step back discloses the scene itself in all its natural complexity” (3). One the one hand I see it as a romantic view of rural life that has personal links to my life and on the other hand as a photograph taken by someone more interested in process and technology than the picture, rather like those internet conversations about pixels that appear to reduce photography to a technological arms-race. But, my interpretation is no more right than Jeffrey’s nor has this eminent art historian and critic has in any way missed the point, far from it.

The haystack is a prefect example of the practical application of Roland Barthes concept of “The Death of the Author” (7) and the idea of “Creative Attention” as proposed by Ainslie Ellis and Jonathan Bayer (8). (These ideas have been discussed in previous essays – see note viii below)

The post modernist view which is strongly based on Barthes’ essay The Death of the Author argues that whilst “the sway of the author remains powerful” the viewer is the primary controller of Art’s meaning. Barthes argues that reducing the influence of the author “utterly transforms” a piece of art and The Haystack is a perfect example of this process. Its power as a photograph is built upon a complex combination of its original context including the history of Fox Talbot and his competition with Daguerre, the mysteries and ambiguities that exist inside the frame and its aesthetic appeal but this is only relevant as a springboard for the ideas the viewer creates by engaging in a dialogue with the image. Harking back to Bayer’s idea, The Haystack releases its meanings slowly and has been doing so for over 175 years.

(I have also looked at this photograph in the context of semiotics here.)

Notes on Text

(i) Fox talbot patented the calotype in 1843. Light sensitive paper was exposed in a camera, developed and fixed to create a negative. A print was made by exposing another sheet of light sensitive paper placed in contact with the negative. (1) I was intrigued to find a letter in the de Montford archive where he uses the term “photograph” as a generic term “Several photographic processes being now known, which are materially different from each other, I consider it to be absolutely necessary to distinguish them by different names, in the same way that we distinguish different styles of painting or engraving. Photographs executed on a silver plate have received, and will no doubt retain, the name of Daguerréotype. The new kind of photographs, which are the subject of this letter, I propose to distinguish by the name of Calotype; a term which, I hope, when the become known, will not be found to have been misapplied.” (

(ii) Since the advent of silage hay is is used far less for animal feeding and when it is used it is bailed and stacked as opposed to just stacked. The art of making a haystack has nearly disappeared in England but in many parts of Southern and Eastern Europe both the stack and the the unique triangular knives that are used to carve out the hay are still common.

(iii) Fox Talbot’s great contribution to the process of photography was the concept of printing multiple copies of the same picture from a single negative. The Pencil of Nature was the first ever photo book and ran to to six separate volumes that in total contained twenty four calotypes.

(iv) By all accounts Fox-Talbot was a brilliant man, as a gentleman scientist he explored many fields and was awarded a honorary Doctors of Laws degree by Edinburgh University not for his contribution to the arts or even his political career (he served in Palmerston’s government when the MP for Chippenham) but for his many contributions to science. In mathematics there is the “Talbot’s Curve”, in physics “Talbot’s Law” and the “Talbot” is a unit of luminous energy; there are two species names after him in the filed of botany and for good measure there is a Talbot crater on the moon. (4)

(v) He also points out that “you just can’t get the staff” saying that the chief difficulty he faces is the “paucity” of “skilful manual assistance”.

(vi) The full text reads: “I intend sending you a Copy of my new work the Pencil of Nature which I expect will be published tomorrow. I have met with difficulties innumerable in this first attempt at Photographic publication, & therefore I hope all imperfections will be candidly allowed for, and excused – I have every reason to hope the work will improve greatly as it proceeds, & that British Talent will come forward and assist the enterprise The Complexity of the Art requires a division of labour; one person should invent new processes while another puts in execution those already ascertained, but hitherto I have been the chief operator myself in the different branches of the invention.” (Document number 5013 in The Correspondence of William Henry Fox Talbot held by the De Montford University (5))

(vii) It is important to recognise that Larry J Schaaf has recorded approximately 10,000 letters to and from Fox Talbot so it would be quite wrong to give the impression that I have done anymore than skimmed the surface of this resource. I concentrated on reading the letters written between early 1843 and late 1844 which covered the period of The Haystack photograph and the publication of The Pencil of Nature.

(viii) The Death of the Author is discussed in two essays about post modernism here and here and the ideas of Ainslie Ellis and Jonathan Bayer are looked at here and here)

Sources

Books

(1) Barthes, Roland. (1980) Camera Lucida. London: Vintage Books

(3) Jeffrey, Ian ( 2008) How to Read a Photograph: Understanding, Interpreting and Enjoying the Great Photographers. London: Thames and Hudson.

(6) Badger, Gerry (2007) The Genius of Photography: How Photography has Changed our Lives. London: Quadrille.

(7) Barthes, Roland (1968) The Death of the Author. (Included within Image, music, Text, translated by Stephen Heath (1977)) London: Fontana Press

(8) Bayer, Jonathan (1977) Reading Photographs: Understanding the Aesthetics of Photography. The Photographers’ Gallery. New York: Pantheon

Internet

(2) Fox Talbot, William Henry (1844) The Pencil of Nature (accessed at PCCA 6.7.15) – http://www.photocriticism.com/members/archivetexts/photohistory/talbot/talbotpencila.html

(4) Schaaf, Larry J. The Correspondence of William Henry Fox Talbot (accessed at the de Montford University Fox Talbot archive 6.7.15) – http://foxtalbot.dmu.ac.uk/talbot/biography.html

(5) Schaaf, Larry J. The Correspondence of William Henry Fox Talbot (accessed at the de Montford University Fox Talbot archive 6.7.15) – http://foxtalbot.dmu.ac.uk

#2015 by Steve Middlehurst

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