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reddeadtrash · 5 years

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Ghosts

Summary: There is something strange about the woman they find in the winter wilderness. She is cold, unwavering, and strangely menacing. Arthur Morgan finds himself pulled in by that vivacity. Unbeknownst to him, she knows many things that elude this cowboy. Like magnet to metal, no matter how far he throws her away, he always finds himself going back.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC

Rating: M

Word count: 2000

A/N: final chapter for today, then it’s weekly updates hunnies

CHAPTER TWO: HAVE FAITH

He said one of these days you'll get out of these hills. Keep your nose on the grind stone and out of the pills. See the ways of this world just to bring you to tears. Keep the lord in your heart you'll have nothing to fear.

“What fresh is hell did you bring upon me, now, Dutch?”

Arthur looked back from Dutch’s cabin, the harsh wind of the mountains whipping at his face. His cheeks were bitten red, skin around his mouth raw, and rashes had begun in the corners of his eyes. If they ever made it out of this mountain alive, Arthur would delight in the warmth of a good bath.

Mrs. Grimshaw stood in a tight black dress, breasts pushed up almost to her chin. Back in her first days, Arthur had found it particularly hard to avoid the old-woman’s bosom, especially when she put it on display as such. She had such fine taste in clothing, and she knew how to make people work, but it seemed that people were more scared of a nip-slip than Mrs. Grimshaw herself.

“What are you talking about, Mrs. Grimshaw?” Dutch asked, walking out of his cabin. The door clanged shut behind him.

“That girl you brought along,” Susan went on. “She’s impossible. Dresses like a man and doesn’t want any of the clothes I usually reserve for the girls. Where exactly did y’all find her?”

Dutch’s face split into a grin. “Oh, Mrs. Grimshaw,” he chuckled. “Let the woman be! We are headed out now anyway. Is everything in order?”

Susan’s face went flat. “Of course!”

“Then let’s ride!”

The entire caravan was on the move when the sun had barely made its ascent into the sky. Slow flakes trickled from above to settle onto Arthur’s shoulders, who was riding the last wagon. Beside him, Charles, and sitting among the stocks was Hosea and Arya. The latter was dressed in a huge black woolen coat she had taken from one of the men’s closet, a red union shirt, and black pants held with thin suspenders. She still had on those strange leather boots.

Arthur was pretending not to listen, but his soul still harbored the nameless doubt about that girl. When he sneaked a look back, noticing how she’d fashioned her hair into two braids running tight along the curve of her skull, her saw her bent towards Hosea.

“A train?” she was saying.

“We planned to hit it before coming down,” Hosea answered. He was wrapped in many woolen layers, but his cheeks were red, and his breath puffed out in thick white clouds. “We decided to take more time. Our dynamite line was broken anyway. We will settle down here, and then come back up to hit the train when we’ve got all we need.”

He must have been showing her a map, Arthur wasn’t sure, as he was looking forward. They were traveling further south, and the warmth was beginning to seep into his coat. They rode along the sharp decline of the hills some more, bodies jostling simultaneously, Arya and Hosea whispering on about plans and places. All of this was giving Arthur nausea. As they rolled down from the snowy tops and onto frozen mud roads, Arthur’s stomach roiled with doubt.

Telling her all these plans. All the places they had in mind to hide out from the law. Arthur didn’t like it. In fact, he never liked strangers. His mind had been trained to doubt everything. And now, his chest was burning, and he wanted to tell Arya to sit in the other wagon.

Just at the instant where he was going to propose it, the wagon shifted to the left and crashed onto its rear haunch. The sound it made, as they exited the Cumberland bridge, was metal and wood grinding against each other. Arthur made a deep sound in his throat, stopped the horses, and jumped down from the seat.

“Aah, I broke the Goddamn wheel!” he cried out in anger.

Everyone jumped down, gathering behind the wagon to examine the broken wheel. It lay against the wagon, out of its socket, soaked in mud.

“That’s an easy fix,” Arya mumbled.

Charles gave the woman a side look while Arthur bent beside the wheel. From his vantage point, he saw the weird exchange of eyebrow game between Charles and Arya, and then she sighed and picked up the wheel.

“Can you big boys hold the wagon up?” she asked, plunging her fingers into the dirt on the wheel to bring it upright.

Arthur’s growl stayed stuck in his throat. He nonetheless joined Charles to hoist up the end of the wagon. Straining, he watched from the side as Arya hooked the wheel back on and hit it with a few swings of her hips until the wheel clanged into place.

“There it is!” Hosea exclaimed, hands in the air. Arya’s face did something strange. It split and splintered into a smile, and Arthur saw just how white her teeth were, how full and red were her lips. For a brief instant, very brief, he forgot how to breathe.

He’d seen many beautiful women in his days. Blondes, brunettes, reds. Light skin and dark skin. Tall and short, stout and elegant. He’d seen the variety of body shapes, of eyes, of smiles, and of cheeks. He’d tasted those lips and caressed those curves. Arthur Morgan had been with many women that he considered beautiful, yet none could compare to his Mary. His Mary. Brown-haired beauty. Freckled nose and cheeks. Heart-shaped lips that always looked wet. His Mary.

Arya was coming quite close to eclipsing his Mary. That smile, dimpling her round cheeks, softening the almost perpetual angered look on her face, was going to be imprinted in Arthur’s mind for a very long time.

He found himself sitting in the driver’s seat, frigid fingers clutching the reigns, Arya and Hosea still talking it out in the back of the newly-fixed wagon.

By now, Dutch’s wagon was way ahead. Arthur had to follow the wheel tracks in the dirt to know the path, because dear old Hosea was too busy letting the new girl in on their plans. He thought about her running off in the middle of the night, bringing that breathtaking smile with her, and giving all that information to Colm.

Arthur spotted Javier hanging off the road.

“Climb on in, cowboy!” Charles joked.

Javier crumbled something in Spanish yet swung along the edge of the wagon to sit among the stock. “Miss Reed,” he greeted, tipping his hat towards Arya.

Arthur mulled that over. Arya Reed.

**

Somewhere in the afternoon, they’d arrived at Horseshoe Overlook. Susan Grimshaw had arranged every single little detail; the kitchen wagon, healing kits, and respective tents. Dutch’s monster of a tent, complete with the vinyl player and Molly’s things, gloomed on the outskirts. Hitching posts. Cleaning wagon. Empty tables. It looked like home, or as close to home as it could get. This was camp.

Arthur’s own tent was off beside Dutch’s, not far from the man’s protective glare. They’d spent a few days settling in, scouting ahead to see if the coast was clear. There were no lawmen in effect in the perimeter of camp, and the only bounty in town was on a dog slayer in Valentine. They were as safe as they could get.

Arthur had used the down time to hunt. Alone with his horse and his bow and arrow, he scoured through the lands. At peace, serene with nature, Arthur felt at home within the wilderness. The weather was chilly in the morning, but with the warm sun, it got very comfortable during midday. Nights were cold, but on good days, when the sun had become more than warm, the night tended to stay warm too.

When Arthur rode back into camp, his skin crusty and hair dirty, he smiled at the usual praise from the women.

“Good one, Arthur,” Karen cooed in that cracking voice of hers, motioning to the white tail deer on his horse.

“That’s gonna make some good stew!” Mary-Beth cheered, showing pink cheeks under the hot sun.

As Arthur hitched his horse and slid off, he spotted a caramel-haired woman sauntering against the blue horizon. Dressed in a mud-stained black union shirt and black pants, Arya was helping Sadie hoist tin bins of water to Pearson’s wagon. She kept readjusting her suspenders and flipping her braids behind her back. Mud had stained her cheek where she’d had absentmindedly wiped at her face.

The two women made a hell of a pair. Sadie with her rough ways and untamed attitude. Arya with a calm coldness that sent chills to the core of the soul. Arthur watched them interact; Sadie going on and on and on, while Arya nodded along with a look of murder written on her features.

“Arthur!” Dutch was calling him from his tent, waving and smiling.

Gathered around him were Micah, Hosea, Lenny, Javier, Bill, and Charles.

“Arthur, now that you’ve joined us, we can start the preparations for the train heist.” Dutch cleared his throat. “With the information so nicely provided to us by the O’Driscolls and Miss Reed, we know the train will be crossing into the Grizzlies.”

“We were just there, Dutch,” Micah grumbled. “Why couldn’t we hit it while staying there?”

“Because Bill’s stupid detonator was broken,” Charles answered, giving the former man a side glance.

Bill put his hands up. “It’s the detonator’s fault, not mine!”

“Now that everything is in order!” Dutch bellowed over the bickering. “We will ride tonight. Charles and Javier, you ride ahead right now to scout for us. I don’t want any surprises.”

The two aforementioned gave a sharp nod to the rest of the gathered bodies and walked off.

Dutch continued, “The rest of us will ride tonight. We will camp at the halfway point. In the morning, we will wait for the train, who, according to our information, arrives in the early afternoon.” He produced a small stack of papers from his vest and started handing them out. “Hosea has made makeshift maps if ever anything happens.”

Arthur grabbed his and was surprised when Dutch handed one to Arya and Sadie, who were quietly standing behind the group of men.

“Miss Reed and Mrs. Adler!” Micah sing-songed in that grim voice that was between a rasp and a growl.

“Probably a better shot than you,” Sadie grumbled back. Arthur smirked at the way Micah frowned deeply.

“Why is everyone convinced I’m a bad shot!” he growled.

“We leave at dusk!” Dutch exclaimed, before closing the flap to his tent.

Arthur watched as everyone dispersed. Sadie and Arya went back to their chores with Pearson. Micah disappeared to the edges of the cliff beyond the trees, twiddling something woody between his fingers. Hosea grumbled on about plans and money but stayed somewhat close to Dutch’s tent.

Arthur wasn’t sure if bringing the women on such a high-stake heist was a good idea. He had no doubt that they could fend for themselves, but he was still not sure if Miss Reed had clear intentions. As he thought that, he watched he roll up her sleeves and hoist up more buckets. She stopped once she held a bucket, cocked her head, birdlike, and in a swift motion, locked eyes with him.

Blue met black and Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. He turned and walked off, thinking he should start preparing his bag for the ride ahead. All the while, he could feel the heavy dark stare of Arya burning holes into his back.

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