Deliverance † Arthur Morgan

two: eastbound and down

With renewed strength and the weather finally clearing, the gang ride down from the mountains, meaning to set up camp somewhere the weather is warmer.     

     COLTER IS AN old mining town buried in the snow of the West Grizzlies and where the Van der Linde gang has made camp for now. It's freezing and Pearson, among others, isn't happy there's another mouth to worry about feeding. They'd lost Jennie and Davey but already replaced them with three new hungry bellies —Sadie Adler, Kieran Duffy, and now Lilian Cornwall. 

     "Here" —Arthur holds out a tin cup of watery venison stew as he kneels next to the fireplace— "ain't much but can't have you witherin' away." Unable to hide the rumble of her stomach, Lilian takes the stew, gingerly nursing the bland broth and watching as Arthur stokes the fire 'fore adding another warped piece of lumber.

     Dry wood crackling in the hearth permeates the tense silence until the shrill howl of the cold wind starts back up, whipping at the door of the small cabin and under the tin roof. Lilian Cornwall glimpses the stern look on Arthur Morgan's rugged face as he stares into the dancing flames from under the brim of a worn gambler's hat. His lips set into a harsh line half-hidden behind the unkempt beginnings of a beard and blue-green eyes shining with flecks of gold from the fire and lanterns. Sitting aside the empty cup, Lilian brings her knees up to her chest, shrinking into the torn and stained fustian coat.

     The warmth is chased away by the cabin door swinging open —snow skitters across the uneven floor with a great gust of wind. "Dutch," Arthur greets, gaze tracking the gang's leader as he moves fireside, peeling off a pair of thick leather gloves and righting an upturned stool. He sits with a flourish, pushing back the hem of his thick, black winter coat and stretches his hands out toward the fire. With an audible sigh, Dutch Van der Linde turns his attention to Lilian Cornwall.

     Her pensive stare reminds him of the card in his pocket. Bill had been so kind as to offer it up after getting back to the camp. The portrait is already a few years old, three or four if memory serves her right —they curled her dark hair and placed a crown of white lilies upon her head. Rising Stars, a collection of young entrepreneurs and doe-eyed beauties sure to make it far. Lilian Cornwall made card number twelve. Dutch tosses the cigarette card down between her and Arthur, lips curving into a smile. 

     "How is our Lily doing?" It's a saccharine question with no sincerity. She spares a glance but does not reply —silence is answer enough. "Don't worry, Miss Cornwall. We're jus' biding our time until the moment's right."

     Once the weather cleared, they'd pick up camp again —no one wanted to linger up here longer than needed, and it'd put more distance between them and Blackwater. She watches Arthur pick up the card, turning it over to see the list of names in the collection. "Then you'll let me go?" The question is meek. Lilian doesn't like feeling helpless or sounding so weak —she is a Cornwall. Her name alone commands respect and authority. She's a successful businesswoman in her own right. But Dutch Van der Linde makes her feel uneasy, more so than the rest of his rabble of outlaws.

     "Of course," he grins with something lurking in that unsettling smile —the first cracks of madness shining through, unseen by those closest to him but clear to Lily. "Of course, my dear." It's meant as reassurance, but a knot forms in her stomach, a growing realization she might never leave. Dutch rises, stretching his back and slipping his black riding gloves back on. He stands by the fire for a moment longer, warming his aging bones before going back to his Irish rose. "See that she don't freeze, Mr. Morgan," he says from the door, flooding the small cabin with the frozen night air again.

     Lilian shivers, in part from the cold, but mostly because of Dutch Van der Linde. Arthur hangs his head with a nigh silent sigh. He's not one for words —never has been— and he knows Lilian Cornwall won't believe anything he says any more than she believes an outlaw will keep his word. When he glimpses her again, she's staring into the fire with a blank expression, tears sliding down her rosy cheeks.