[[A slow burn OCxArthur story with both new and original characters]]
They say the best things in life are unplanned. But sometimes... they're the worst.
After the Blackwater catastrophe, Arthur feels the heavy weight of responsibility; being one o...
It was a slow, sunny day at the camp. I sat on the outside of my tent, drinking in the sunshine on my skin like it was water.
The young Jack Marston had waddled up to me, his face lively. "Hi, Ms. Summer."
"Hi there, Jack!" I responded warmly. I usually didn't talk much at camp, but whenever this boy wanted to talk, he'd make me have a full blown conversation. He loved asking me so many questions, especially about my church — I take it he'd never been to a church before. "I wanted to say thank you for the flower — it's beautiful."
"Mama helped me put it in the bottle!" The boy gave a toothy smile.
"What are you up to today?" I closed my journal, diverting my full attention to him.
"Uncle Arthur might take me fishin' again later," Jack mused, "but right now, nothin'."
"Well, we could go sit by the water if you'd like?" My heart ached for this little boy, stuck in a gang half run by big-hearted people and the other half run by cold-hearted killers. Sometimes, both could be the same person. His mama, Abigail, was doing a great job all things considered — she made sure he got plenty of play time and stuck to where it was safe.
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"Yeah!" Jack jumped up and scurried away, kicking up some grass in his wake. I smiled and threw on my satchel, getting up after him. I passed by Abigail, who lightly grabbed my arm.
"Thank you," she murmured with a soft smile. She was truly a beautiful lady; it seemed like the greens in her eyes were even brighter while she watched her son happily roam around the camp. It was no wonder even someone as distant as John Marston would fall for her.
"Anytime, truly." I grinned back at her, meaning that with my heart. I'd never had any kids of my own yet, mainly because I wanted to actually find the one to have them with. And maybe it was too high of standards, but nearing thirty, it just didn't seem like it was gonna happen. Part of me had always felt that I'd be a mom someday. But maybe it was better this way.
~~
"Ms. Summer, look!" Jack held up some rogue pencil marks and scribbles that were vaguely in the shape of a bird bending down to snatch a worm out of the grass. I had given him some paper and a pencil to doodle with. He had a natural knack for it, I could tell. His proportions were shockingly good for being a kid his age.
"Jack, that's wonderful! You're getting better by the day!" I smiled as I held up the paper, noticing tiny details like the swoops he lightly drew to make feathers.
"You really think so?" he snickered. I had been sketching some people in the camp into my journal. "Uncle Arthur might think so too. Didya know he draws real good?"
"Really?" I smirked, picturing the strong man sitting down to lightly brush a pencil to a page. "Well, between the two of us, you'll get plenty of practice, that's for sure."
