WHAT WAITS FOR US

June 25th, 1912

'Dear journal.

It's been 13 days since Marion Corwell joined my humble farm. Things are quiet for now, no gangs or criminals showing on my doorstep. Philip hasn't visited and I'm still holding onto the letter from my old man. I read it. Nothing that I didn't expect from the bastard, but at least he apologized. The farm's well, crops grow like weed and animals are feeding like crazy. We haven't spoken much, me and Marion... perhaps I scared her the first day. It's all small talk and work. She even learnt to milk a cow.

Well, each person needs to do their share to keep the place going, that's what Philip always says. Am I crazy for letting her stay on the farm?'

"Charles!" Marion called for the man, who spent his day laying underneath the tree, a hat over his face, blocking the sunlight, and a journal on his lap, overflowing with thoughts.

The farmer flicked an idle look at the girl's way as she trotted towards him up the small hill with a pitchfork in hand. "Get your lazy ass off this hill, someone's here to see you!" she scolded.

Charles didn't mind her arguments, if anything, he enjoyed teasing with slow movement and exhausted sighs, while Marion's nerves slowly wasted away.

"Did you ask for the name?" asked Charles while cracking every bone in his body by simply standing up and stretching.

Marion, lightly flushed by the man's appearance, didn't answer, earning another stern look from her host as he caught up on what's occupying her mind. He was quite a beefy man, Charles Jones, no wonder he caught the young girl's heart.

"Well... no. He's older, grey hair, light blue eyes, a nice looking pinto horse. Rings a bell?" Before she could continue, Charles without answering hurried down to greet the person, leaving Marion to wonder all sorts of things.

"Philip!" Charles yelled while casually jogging towards his friend and Philip turned with a sincere smile on his face.

"Charles, my boy!" he greeted with the same amount of enthusiasm while patting Charles' shoulder.

Marion didn't waste her time getting close but still kept a safe distance from them just in case, though Philip was quick to notice the shy lamb and motioned towards her with a slick smirk.

"Finally found yourself a gal, eh?" the old cowboy teased, enough to make Marion even more frustrated, while Charles remained unamused.

"It's good you came, Philip. I need to talk to you about something." Charles announced anew, the change of topic entertaining for his friend. "Marion, if you would..."

Immediately, Marion returned to her chores, but only when she was out of sight did the two men discuss the situation. Charles spoke in a hushed, serious tone and Philip listened attentively.

"She escaped from a gang."

Instinctively, the old man pulled Charles by the hem of his shirt, a mean look in his eyes as he said those words.

"Are you completely and utterly crazy? The Brayden boys have been looking for some girl named Marion Corwell for more than two weeks now. If this is her, Charles..."

While fiddling with his hat, the outlaw groaned at the confession, waiting for his friend to deny the suspicions, but he didn't.
His stare hung low, unmoving from the ground, and he only nodded, neck aching from the tight fabric.

"She is," he mumbled. "I found her in my barn thirteen days ago."

A confirmation Philip dreaded to hear. With a tired sigh, he let go of Charles' shirt so the man could breathe again, but deep within himself, Philip panicked. More than anything, he was concerned for the safety of the couple. Even though he didn't know Marion, he felt sorry for her.