dust in the wind | arthur morgan

chapter nine

V.D.L CAMP, WEST ELIZABETH
2:45PM

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Estella was immersed inside a realm of fiction; a detective novel that Hosea had lent her. One minute: she was a ruthless outlaw, hiding amongst the tall blades of grass with an old revolver grasped tightly in her hand for protection, and the next: she was the best, unofficial, consulting detective hunting down criminals upon the labyrinth of streets in London.

It was a humorous juxtaposition, to say the least.

It was a brief moment of kind tranquillity, where she could allow herself to escape into a make-believe utopia and forget about almost everything that existed on the real planet Earth.

In all honesty, she forgot how much she enjoyed reading. It often brought the frequent memory of herself, John and Hosea sat around the campfire, reading together until the night sky forbade their skills.

Since her realisation, she had avoided Arthur to the best of her ability. Whether this was keeping herself busy with chores (to Susan's delight) or keeping her nose in a book. A couple of passing words sent between the two in fleeting moments, to not make anything suspicious. But that was all. Even the slightest thought about the situation made her completely sick to her stomach. She just felt so incredibly foolish.

Hence why, she was (mentally) no longer in West Elizabeth, but in fact England, where she was sure the wobbly cobbles of the inky, sinister streets were more welcoming than the grassland's casual hostility.

A small tap at the end of her boots disrupted her from her book, her eyes hesitantly peeling away from the compelling words on the yellowing page. She glanced down at her black boots where another pair – a worn, brown leather decorated with basic silver spurs – trampled on the grass.

Her eyes breezed up past the tight-fitted, black jeans, then dreadingly up past the gun belt and the open white shirt that could only just be seen beneath his black waistcoat and worn, red shotgun coat.

Her eyes met his watery blues for a brief second. Her cheeks burned and her eyes snapped back to her book instantly with a quick harsh swallow to gain some composure.

She stared at the pages but did not read them as her heart pumped a familiar, boiling awkwardness through her veins. Her bones became stiff and she gripped the book gravely.

"C'mon, we're going out on a job." Arthur rushed, his hands placed on his hips hastily.

"Oh." was all she could muster, her eyes flickering around the pages.

Arthur tried to peer behind the book at her face, swearing he could see harsh red flush against the dainty apples of her cheeks, but she only brought it closer to her face. At one point, it got so close that the words on the page began to blur.

"Do I have to?" She asked, though trying to remain somewhat polite in her chatting.

"Yes." He sighed with a huff. He shifted his weight as he stood tall over the girl, who refused to make eye contact.

"Why me? Can't John go with you? Or even Bill?"

"Hosea told me to specifically take you." He clarified.