RUNNING WILD [JOHN MARSTON]

6: rum and history

horseshoe overlook
Wisps of Rosalie Bell's hair waved softly in the wind that was carrying itself over New Hanover. The outlaw had been sat on the campfire log for almost an hour now, watching the gang as they went about their daily routines. She'd already rolled her eyes at Molly O'Shea three times, as she watched the woman preen herself in front of her compact mirror and complain to anybody who walked past. She'd listened to the men talk about nothing but drinking whiskey and sleeping with whores they didn't even know. However, most of her day had been spent watching John Marston.

The reserved gunslinger had been avoiding her all week. It seemed like months ago that he'd been loitering around her tent, promising to protect her and eager to assure her that he wasn't sweet on Abigail Roberts. Rosalie just couldn't understand why.

John Marston had been wandering her mind ever since. Letting himself into her thoughts whenever he felt like it. Since that evening, John had barely spoken to her. He'd removed himself from their friendship, from their partnership when it came to getting a score. All Rosalie wanted to do was scream at him; ask him why he was confusing her thoughts so much, but the girl couldn't bring herself to do it.

Her eyes wandered over John's body, as he sat around a table with Arthur, Sean, Javier and Lenny. The men were laughing, discussing Lenny and Arthur's drunken escapades in the Valentine saloon. Even John's mouth was upturned into a smile. The man was drinking just as much as them, laughing as much as them. It was as if he'd forgotten Rosalie completely.

It was late afternoon, but Rosalie Bell needed to drink, a lot. She looked over at Sadie Adler, who was sat next to Mary-Beth, Tilly and Karen, the four of them looking bored as they kicked the dirt and picked at their fingers. There was something about Mrs Adler that she liked, but she wasn't quite sure what.
"You ladies wanna go to the saloon? I need a drink." Rosalie asked the huddle of women as she approached them.
"The saloon? To Valentine?" Karen Jones questioned her as she stood up, an excited look appearing on the women's faces.
"Yeah." Rosalie half questioned them, wondering why her question was so shocking. "You ain't been to Valentine before?"
"No!" Tilly Jackson shrieked. "You really think the boys will let us?"
"Let us?" Rosalie scoffed at her friends. "I don't give a shit what they think. You ladies are bored, now let's go have some fun. You too, Mrs Adler."

John Marston's ears caught the sound of high-pitched giggles from the other side of the camp. The men's voices were drowned out as John looked to see Rosalie Bell laughing with the other girls of the gang, rounding them up and pointing them in the direction of a wagon. His body flew off of the seat he was perched on as he headed towards Rosalie.
"Where you headin'?" He grumbled to her, without a hello or an acknowledgement.
"What's it to you, Mr Marston?" Rosalie scowled back at him from under furrowed eyebrows.
"You ladies need to be careful in Valentine. You don' know who's sniffin' around out there."
"Be careful? Those ladies can look after themselves, and so can I." Rosalie's eyes finally looked up at him from underneath her hat. They were glazed over in a hard stare, still angry for the way John had been acting.

All Rosalie wanted to do was scream at him, as she stood in front of him. She couldn't deny she felt a certain way about him, a different way to any other man in the gang. But she was pushing the feeling, the thoughts, deep into the back of her mind. Those were the kind of thoughts that were too dangerous.

John Marston still stood blocking her path, his eyes grazing over her, but his mouth not knowing what to say.
"Let me go, John." She sneered at him.
John could tell that the fiery woman was holding his actions against him. He was angry at himself; he'd never been good with words, never been good in situations like this one.
Rosalie pushed past the man in front of her and made her way to the girls who were sat in the wagon.
"Rosalie!" John shouted behind her, but she carried on walking.

smithfield's saloon, valentine
Karen Jones threw a fake giggle from her lips as she twiddled a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, leading the stranger away from his table. She had no intention of sleeping with him, of course, but robbing him instead. Tilly Jackson was off god knows where, and Sadie Adler was sat near the piano, nodding her head along to the joyful sounds of Smithfield Saloon's ragtime piano.

Rosalie Bell had been stood in the same position at the rounded, oak wood bar from late afternoon through to late evening. She ordered another rum, perhaps her sixth or seventh of the day. She wasn't interested in the piano, and she wasn't interested in the drunken men hollering at her across the room, their breaths undoubtedly reeking of whiskey and cigarettes, and their skin flushing from the years of heavy drinking. All she could think about was John Marston.

Mrs Adler took her by surprise as she appeared next to Rosalie at the bar, leaning her arms on the wood as Rosalie was doing.
"You doing okay, Miss Bell?" She asked her, her voice low and raspy. "You've had a lot of them today." He eyes flashed towards the rum in front of Rosalie as her hand signalled for the man behind the bar.
"Just drinkin' to forget all the shit in this world." Rosalie flashed a fake smile in Mrs Adler's direction.
"And this ain't got anything to do with Mr Marston?" Sadie could read the two outlaws too easily.
Rosalie shot her a questioning look, trying to play her feelings off.
Sadie sighed, raising her eyebrows at Rosalie. "I saw the two of you exchanging words before we left, looked heated."
"Ain't nothin' heated between me and John Marston. The man just thinks he's tryna' protect us ladies." Rosalie scoffed, trying to push Sadie away from the subject, but Sadie didn't believe her. She looked up at Rosalie, studying her facial expressions. Her eyes were glazed over, trying at any attempt to conceal any and all feelings she had.
"How'd you end up runnin' with Dutch, anyway?"

BEFORE: 1898 - blackwater saloon, blackwater
Rosalie Bell sat huddled in the corner table of the Blackwater saloon. She'd managed to spare herself enough money to buy a drink a night in the place; not for the joy of drinking but for the warmth and shelter of the saloon. Plus, she told herself she'd wait here until he came.

She smoothed out her skirt - the same one she'd been wearing for over a month now - the clothes she'd had on her back when she ran were all she had. Slight bloodstains speckled her white blouse, but she'd managed to get the worst of it out in the river.

The saloon was starting to get busy now, after spending a week in the place, she'd noticed that the later into darkness the world plunged, the deeper into their drinks the men plunged.
A small hush wavered over the men in the saloon as the door swung open and closed again. Rosalie Bell didn't dare look up when she heard that hush - it always signified an unwanted presence; a gunslinger or an outlaw. The rest of the saloon would soon choose to ignore them, focusing on their drinks or their poker or their women again, and not on the trouble that just let itself in.

The two men that had just entered, causing the hush were exactly that: outlaws. Their boots clicked on the wooden floor as they scanned the saloon looking for what they had come for.

The other drunks in the saloon had averted their attention away from the outlaws now, and the happy sounds of the ragtime piano started up again, with men singing and women giggling in a flirty manner. Rosalie still didn't look up as she heard the clicks of the boots getting closer. They stopped in front of her table.
"Rosalie." A low, husky voice spoke.

At first, Rosalie Bell didn't know whether to believe it, but her body breathed a joyful sigh of relief when she looked up and saw him there.
"Oh my god, you came." She breathed. There he was; her brother stood in front of her after all these years.
"What the fuck happened?" Micah almost grumbled, like he couldn't think of anything worse than hearing about the people he had to call his family.
Rosalie's bottom lip quivered as she looked up at her older brother with glistening eyes. She began to cry.
"I shot him! God Micah, I shot him."