Chapter Text
February 27, 1899
Last thing we was expecting to find on our way through the Grizzlies was a woman on the side of the road, looking mighty distressed. Reminded us of Jenny, who must have thought the same thing, seeing as she was the first off the wagon to help her. Abigail and I followed right after and tried to see if there was anywhere we could give her a ride to. She said she didn’t even know who she was or how she got here, only that she thinks her name is Zoey Campbell. Ain’t a name I’ve heard before, and she talks a little different, but Dutch reckons it’s from up north. New York or somewhere, probably. That’d explain why her clothes was a bit nicer looking than ours, though I don’t imagine many city girls dressing like us men. Maybe that’s why she was out here.
We took pity on her, and Hosea doesn’t think she’s lying, so she’ll stay with us until she either remembers something that’ll help us reunite with her family, or she figures out what she wants to do. She seems a bit soft for the outlaw life, and I’d rather not drag her into it, if it can be helped.
March 6, 1899
Life’s been good in the foothills of the Grizzlies. We set up camp a few miles from some little settlement called Windy Gulch. Food’s plenty, and despite the chill—which nobody seems to be much of a fan of—life is good. We ain’t rode out to pull any jobs in a few weeks, so some of us are getting a little cabin fever, but spirits remain high. Micah’s been the only one stirring up any real trouble, and I have found still no reason to like him. At least Bill does as told without complaining too much, though he is drunk more often than not. He has always been a fool, and I doubt that will change anytime soon, but he does not set out to be intentionally irritating like Micah most days.
Hosea seems to dislike Micah about as much as I do, getting as mad as I’ve ever seen him as he pulled him away from our newest arrival, that poor girl Zoey. Apparently he’d been making untoward comments about her, though Hosea would not say what exactly. I best keep an eye on him.
She still does not remember anything about her past or how she got on the side of the road. It seems to upset her whenever she’s asked about it, so I try to steer clear of the subject.
While none of us have told her what it is we do, she’s far from an idiot and seems to have figured it out. Doesn’t seem to scare her, though, so maybe she ain’t as soft as I thought. Otherwise, she’s settled in nicely, she’s a hard worker, eager to help out wherever she can. Takes everything in stride, much smoother than our other city girl, Molly—I still ain’t sure she’s cut out for this life. But Zoey’s doing just fine. She seems quiet at first, but I seen her chatter about as much as Lenny when in the right mood.
She’s about the sweetest woman I have ever met, but beyond that, I think there’s something special about her. Can’t quite put my finger on what, or why, but I’d say it’s good we found her.
Zoey is bored out of her mind. And she has no earthly idea how to fix it.
Camp is quiet, everyone mostly sequestering themselves in their tents or quietly reading. Her morning chores are done. She doesn’t feel in the mood for reading. The only real activity going on is Pearson giving Arthur and John his list of supplies they’re supposed to get from the general store in Windy Gulch, along with one of his many stories from the Navy. The boys each offer their own long-suffering sighs as Pearson prattles on. Arthur’s hand is extended silently for the list as John leans against the wagon, arms crossed and wearing a bored expression.
She snickers while she watches them, then an idea forms. Cold weather is not her favorite, she knows that much, so she avoids leaving the campfire unless absolutely necessary. But she doesn’t recognize this area of the country, making her pretty sure she’s never been here. So despite how cold she knows it’ll get on the ride to town, why not offer to go with them? She’d get to see the countryside and be of some use. And even though she’s seen John and Arthur argue a few times, Arthur acting like the grumpy older sibling—something she feels oddly familiar with—they seem like good company. Then again, she has heard real, genuine annoyance in his voice before, but that’s not her business.
Well, she could be their buffer so that they don’t get into too much trouble.
She’s heard the way they talk to and about the other ladies, so she knows they’re good men, that they’ll protect her. That in the presence of a lady, they’ll behave better than they would on their own. Although, John and Abigail seem to be on pretty rocky terms. But again, that’s their business, not hers.
Pulling her jacket even tighter around her, she tromps eagerly over to the chuckwagon.
“Then the boat comes down with the plague!” Pearson is saying, gesticulating wildly. The shopping list in his hand is being tossed about like a ragdoll, and Arthur’s eyes are following it in between blank stares at the camp cook. “And men are dying like it’s a race!”
“Morning, gentlemen!” Zoey greets.
Arthur and John offer her smiles and tips of the hat, faces softening. Pearson also nods at her, his tophat rocking back and forth at the gesture, but doesn’t pause in his story. “The parson can’t keep up with the funerals! We’re buryin’ them one, two, three at a time! And there’s fifty sharks—”
Arthur cuts him off with a sharp, “Mr. Pearson.”
“What?”
Arthur gestures pointedly at Zoey, who offers a tight-lipped and awkward smile as he explains, “There’s a lady present now. I think you should stop with the gruesome stories, partner.”
John looks to the sky as if saying “thank you,” and Zoey suppresses a laugh. Instead, she holds up her gloved hands and says, “I don’t think that’s the worst thing I’ve heard, and it doesn’t really bother me. It’s okay. Y’all goin’ into town?”
“Yeah, if we can ever get the list,” John grumbles.
Pearson looks at the list, suddenly remembering he’s still holding it. Face flushing from embarrassment and turning his red cheeks even darker, he shoves it quickly into Arthur’s still outstretched hand and turns around to continue working on the stew. “Thanks, Mr. Morgan, Mr. Marston.”
“Not a problem,” Arthur says, distracted as he reads the slip of paper.
“Y’all need help?” Zoey asks hopefully. She rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet.
Arthur peeks up at her from under his thick lashes. A smirk grows on his lips, and not for the first time, Zoey notes just how handsome he is. “I dunno, it’s kinda dangerous.”
“Shopkeepers can have a nasty way about them,” John joins in. He’s handsome, too, though far more wild looking than Arthur.
Matter of fact, the entire gang is full of beautiful people. But rather than harp on the thought of how she pales in comparison, she plays along with their joke, sporting a smirk of her own. “I think I can handle myself. Besides, I thought you boys were tough.”
They both laugh heartily. Arthur shoves the list in his jacket pocket and motions at John. “I reckon you’re right, think you and I’ll be fine, but maybe we should leave Marston here.”
“Shut up, Morgan, you’re the one who’s ‘bout as tough as a bag of wet socks.”
“Okay, yeah, I’m definitely coming along with you.” Zoey walks between them in a roundabout way of getting to the wagon. “Besides needing to be useful and get out of camp, I now see that I need to make sure you two don’t kill each other on the way over.”
“Shoulda done that years ago. Lord knows it wouldn’t’ve been hard.”
“Shut up, Arthur.”
“Come on, y’all,” Zoey placates.
The ride on the wagon is comfortable and easy enough, though slow through the rocky trails. Windy Gulch is a few miles away, so it takes them the better part of two hours to get there. John has plopped himself in the back of the wagon while Arthur and Zoey sit up front—her suggestion, fearing one of them may try and push the other off the side. Her money’s on Arthur winning that battle, because even though John’s a few inches taller, Arthur’s brawnier. They only occasionally poke fun at each other, instead opting to fill the silence with stories of past jobs, how they met certain gang members, and answering any general questions Zoey has. Arthur tiptoes around his own questions about her past. Zoey is both annoyed and thankful for it. But she doesn’t say anything, only redirects. She is genuinely curious, and both of them seem to sense it, taking her questions with ease.
When they aren’t talking, she watches the thick forest surrounding the road. Trees crowd the road so close in some places that she and Arthur have to scoot closer to the middle of the bench to avoid getting smacked by branches. It hasn’t snowed recently, but it’s still cold enough that most of the snow is still intact. There’s hardly any noise besides what’s coming from the wagon, as the birds haven’t made their spring migration back north just yet. It’s beautiful and picturesque, though the silence is a little unsettling. Thankfully there’s not enough of it to really bother her.
Once in town, which is little more than a handful of the essential buildings dusted with light snow along the edges of the roofs and a few people milling about, John quickly scrambles out of the back and rushes just ahead of them into the significantly warmer shop. It’s a rather large general store, and when Zoey raises her brow in confusion, Arthur explains.
“Because it’s the only town for a long ways, places like this are always well stocked for locals and travelers that need to stock up, especially in winter. Hosea says the few times he’s been through here, it’s always been busy.”
“Suppose that makes sense,” she says.
“Hey.” When she looks up at him, short as she is, Arthur continues. “I got some extra cash, and I know you’re in need of some more clothes. This’ll take a while to get and load up, and I ain’t in a rush to get back to camp, so if there’s anything you want, I’ll get it for ya.”
The small gesture warms Zoey up almost better than the fire does. “Oh, that’s too nice, Arthur, I—”
“Ain’t no point in arguin’, Miss Campbell. It’s the least I can do to help you out.”
“How come you never offer to buy me anything?” John protests. His arm is practically full of cigarette packs already, and the pout he’s aiming at Arthur adds to his almost downright comical appearance.
“Because I don’t like you,” he says matter-of-factly. An employee steps up to the register to offer assistance, and Arthur points a finger between John and the employee. “Hey, sir, everything he grabs, he’s payin’ for. Everything the lady here gets is on me. And,” he adds as he digs into his coat pocket, “I got a separate list for ya.”
John makes a big show of rolling his eyes as Arthur approaches the counter as well, pulling out Pearson’s list and showing it to the shopkeep.
While they deal with that, Zoey makes her way over to the clothing section, grabbing a few jeans and plain blouses, along with some men’s-style shirts; it’s all the cheapest pieces she can find, both because she’s not rude enough to buy expensive clothes on Arthur’s dime and for practicality’s sake, though the size selection narrows her choices. She gets the sense that trying on things has never been a favorite pastime, so she doesn’t spend long doing it, eventually settling on two pairs of jeans, a dark blue v-neck work shirt, a chemise, and two plain men’s button downs. The jacket Karen had told her she could keep will suffice for now, at least until she gets some money of her own to buy a spare one. As she approaches the counter, Arthur taps the space next to him, indicating for her to place them there while he continues to go over the list with the employee. John has made his way outside and is helping to load the wagon. Zoey watches him and considers going out to help, too.
“Sorry, sir,” the employee says, “but we only have about three cans of beans left. There’s a shipment supposed to be here tomorrow, so you could come back and get it then if you’re stayin’ in the area?”
Arthur shakes his head. “Nah, no need. If you got it, how ‘bout some extra cans of corn instead?”
“I think we have more than enough, but I’ll go check just to be safe.”
As he darts into the back, Arthur looks at her purchases, then Zoey. “This all you want?”
She nods with a grateful smile. “This is more than enough, Arthur, thank you, really.”
“No books or candies or nothin’?”
“Probably not. I haven’t even looked over there…” she admits as she leans against the counter.
“Well, go look.” Arthur jerks his head in the direction of the bookshelves. “This don’t cost that much, and it may be a while before we see another town again.”
“Really, Arthur, I’m fine. I don’t want y’all goin’ through any extra trouble just for me. I was thinking about actually going to help John load the stuff up...”
He snorts. “John’s fine, I promise. A little hard work’ll do him good. Keeps him outta my hair,” he adds under his breath. Then, louder, “‘S’alright. Go find somethin’, just for you. Ain’t no trouble, promise, Miss Campbell.”
At the encouraging smile that reaches his eyes, Zoey gives up and makes her way over to the shelves. She peruses the fiction section briefly, undecided on exactly what she’s looking for, then moves on to a smaller section. A few books of maps, a dictionary or two, then a set of cookbooks that pique her interest. Why, she doesn’t know, but as she thumbs through it, something tickles at the back of her mind, then creeps forward slowly like water trickling down a windowpane. She’s been mostly learning how to sew the gang’s clothes properly and doing laundry the week she’s been with them, exhausted by the time dinner rolls around, so she hasn’t had much time to think about much else or spend much time at Pearson’s chuckwagon. It makes sense that it hadn’t occurred to her until now.
Cooking. I can cook really well. I know lots of recipes already.
The exact recipes aren’t popping up in her head, but she knows that they’re there, locked up somewhere, and she knows what spices she likes and doesn’t like. The recipes in the book are extremely simple, though very bland. But she knows how to make them better. Something that maybe she learned from her northern and/or wealthy upbringing?
She shakes her head to expel the thought because now isn’t the time to get frustrated over not being able to remember details. Too much of that lately.
“Found somethin’?” Arthur asks as she approaches, cookbook in hand.
“I think so!” She smiles and sets it down on top of her clothes.
“Good.”
“Hey, what spices are on the list?”
Arthur huffs lightly. “Funny you think Pearson’s ever used spices.”
She resists a laugh, then continues, “Okay, well, how about we add a few, then?”
Arthur grins mischievously. “I already grabbed a bit of basil that should get us through a few days. Ain’t enough, but a few days of somewhat better stew’s better’n none.”
Zoey does let out a laugh, albeit a bit of a guilty one. She barely knows these people, and they all seem good. They’ve been nice enough to take her in, feed and clothe her, so making fun of any one of them seems a bit too mean at this point. And she knows she’s not mean. “Okay, well good.” She’ll see what she can do with those in the meantime, provided Arthur hands them over when they get back to camp. As for the other things she’s sure she’ll need, she’ll worry about getting them later. Maybe someone will head back to town in a few days and she can hitch a ride.
Which makes her desire to have a horse of her own come rushing forward again. The freedom one would provide. But, that’s out of the question for now, she’s far too poor for one, and who knows how long she’ll even be with the gang. There’d been no reports in the papers of a missing woman fitting her description, not for the past few months anyway, so maybe… maybe nobody’s looking for her. Maybe they’d actually been trying to get rid of her…
“We’re almost done here. If you want, you can head out to the wagon. Don’t help John, though, he’ll make ya do all the work for him.”
His voice thankfully pulls her out of her head, and she frowns at him. “Arthur,” she chides lightly as she makes her way for the door. “No he won’t.”
“You ain’t known him as long as I have, Zoey.”
She can tell he’s just kidding, so she just waves him off. The chill in the air stings her warm cheeks as she swings the door open. Regret is instant, but she’s already outside and doesn’t want to seem like a chicken to the other two, so she soldiers on. John nods at her from where he’s leaned against the back of the wagon, waiting for the last remaining supplies to be brought out. She nods back and climbs into the wagon’s seat, curling in on herself to ward off some of the cold.
Eventually, Arthur emerges, arms full of Zoey’s purchases. He shakes her off quickly when she attempts to climb down and help him, so she stays put and waits, continuing to mentally go over different ways to get the other spices she may need. Hosea and Charles seem to know a lot about which herbs will provide which healing properties, so maybe they could help her search for what she needs in the wild. Oregano and thyme she can be sure to find just about anywhere, but isn’t the best at identifying them when they’re mixed in with various other foliage.
It isn’t long before they’re on the trail back to camp again. Arthur and John say a few things between themselves, but Zoey doesn’t pay much attention, still lost in her own head and busy watching the scenery. A silence settles over them shortly after leaving town.
“You’re quiet,” John remarks after some time.
The sudden voice startles Zoey, and she swivels in her seat to look back at John, looking up at her curiously from where he’s nestled in between two large bags. “Yeah, sorry, just… thinking.”
“You say sorry too much,” he mutters, though not unkindly.
Arthur casts him a sideways glance, and Zoey thinks it’s a warning, before asking, “Anythin’ in particular on your mind?”
“Yeah, food,” she admits. The men each chuckle lightly. “Like, that cookbook I grabbed got me thinking. There’s not much in it, really, but I’m pretty sure I know how to cook. Like, different from the way Pearson does it. I don’t think I’ve ever cooked for more than six people in one sitting, but I’m sure I could make adjustments to these recipes or find my own. It’s how I could be useful.”
“Well, you ain’t useless, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Some people are,” John adds, “but not you.”
She smiles at them, letting out a laugh through her nose. “Thanks. I just want to… do something. Not be a bum. And enjoy the thing that I do while I’m here. I don’t think I can do what y’all do, but… this could be good. And I’m sure Mr. Pearson could use the help.”
“Oh, he most certainly could,” Arthur laughs. “Just… he’ll spend hours talkin’ about his time in the Navy if you give him a sliver of a chance to. So just, be warned. Tell him you need to work in silence, if ya have to.”
She laughs again. “Noted. But it’ll be fine. I like him.”
“Yeah, I do too. But he talks a lot.”
Zoey tilts her head. “So can I.”
“Yeah, but that’s different. You’re interestin’.”
“Don’t be mean to Mr. Pearson.”
“Arthur Morgan’s a mean son of a bitch, don’t let him fool you,” John says.
“You ain’t seen mean yet, Marston, believe me.”
“Oooh, you’re just terrifyin’.” John pulls out his hands from where they were tucked under his armpits to shake them in the air sarcastically.
“Okay, you two,” Zoey interjects. “Be nice.”
“That’s a tall order, Zoey.”
“Yeah, well, try and fill it.”
The ride back is quieter, though a little less unsettling. Wind has picked up and rustles the branches, creating enough sounds from the forest that she no longer feels the need to fill the frequent gaps in conversation. Instead, as she and Arthur have to scoot closer together, she curls into herself to stay warm, and eventually leans into Arthur’s shoulder. He stiffens, but relaxes quickly. His added warmth and the gentle rock of the wagon nearly lull Zoey to sleep. She doesn’t realize the two hours have passed until Arthur shouts, “It’s me!” at Sean when they near camp.
“Sorry,” she jolts up, rubbing her eyes and leaning away from Arthur to offer him his personal space back.
“John’s actually right, for once. You ain’t gotta keep sayin’ sorry,” Arthur assures. “You’re alright. Ain’t bother me none.”
“Habit,” she yawns, then shakes her head.
Once they park, Pearson and John immediately begun unloading. Zoey stretches for a moment, joints popping and clicking back into place, muscles aching from the ride, then climbs down to help.
With four people, it doesn’t take long to unload everything, and eventually Zoey tells Pearson she’ll be happy to be the first person he ask to help with the food. He seems delighted by this, which is a relief to Zoey.
Useful. Helpful. It’s all she wants to be.
Because she’s busy chatting with Pearson, asking questions and offering her newly-remembered knowledge, Zoey doesn’t notice the way Charles studies her from the stump he’s been whittling on. He smiles to himself as she points out things in the book and explains better ways to make them, or other vegetables to add in with that dish. This is the most enthusiastic he’s seen her since she arrived, and it’s… endearing, he decides. At the very least, he’s glad she’s found something to be excited about, that she’s settling in well after what must have been quite an ordeal.
She hasn’t been with them long, and neither has he, but he likes her well enough. Doesn’t hurt that she’s cute.
He sighs and shakes his head at himself, returning to his whittling.
March 20, 1899
Well, we have finally left the Grizzlies after spending the better part of the winter there. We was thinking about California, but then Dutch and Hosea brought us down to Blackwater. It’s apparently grown a whole lot since any of them was last here—I was told to expect little more than a trading post. But the place is growing fast, and it’s almost a small city. We’re camped outside Blackwater, although I plan on staying in town sometimes, hunting for opportunities.
Everyone seems to be happy to be back in warmer weather. Marston and Abigail are still arguing, however, and unfortunately poor Zoey got dragged into it a few days ago. I only caught the tail end of it, but she was carrying Jack away and casting a nasty look at Marston over her shoulder. Can’t say I blame her for turning sour on him so quickly.
I wonder why exactly he came back. He cannot seem to decide if he wants to be a father to that boy of his or not. And I am still not sure how I feel about him being back.
April 23, 1899
I might be on to something in Blackwater. We got plenty of money, and the trail we took was so tortuous and slow nobody could have followed us south and east, or figured out where we was heading. The town seems to be riddled with corruption, but there’s certainly plenty of money here. Hosea and I found something pretty big—might be a lot of cash coming in to do with a real estate scam. I am not sure yet. The perfect crime, we think—one where we rob crooks. We are being real careful.
It’s fun working with Hosea again. The man is an artist of nonsense. Even if nothing comes of it, we are having an amusing enough time. It’s good to be running scams again. Hosea is a born huckster. But he is getting worried that by lingering in town, we are going to bring undue attention on ourselves.
He may be right, so we’ve warned the girls to lay low when they’re in town, no big targets. A few times they’ve taken Zoey into town to teach her how to rob, since she seems intent on staying with us. I think her and Jenny might be good to run on a small scam with Hosea sometime soon. Maybe take Charles along as backup, he seems to get along well with both of them, and he’s proven himself capable and trustworthy on more than one occasion. I like him.
Dutch thinks he is also onto something big, his words, not mine, bank money being brought in by boat, apparently, so for now, we are working on both things and seeing what happens. Although I am not sure about the ferry, since Micah has been riling him up about it. Micah is far too hot-headed, and every job I have run with him since Dutch brought him back has ended in far more bloodshed than necessary. I do not like it. And I do not like him.
Plan is to flee west into the desert country someplace if we can once the jobs are pulled off. We shall see.
April 25, 1899
Micah and Dutch are planning to rob the ferry in town. They think it’s laden with riches—cash coming in for the banks, coming in by boat.
For once, I am not getting involved in the job. Hosea and I are too taken up with our business, which I believe could go very well, and Dutch seems confident that with the group assembled, all will be okay. Micah talks a lot of bluster, but I trust Dutch.
Plan is for them to carry out the job, then flee into the wilderness out to the West. The next day, Hosea and I carry out our scam and join them.
Dutch seems happy and excited. He’s talking again about California, but he’s also talking about a lot of other places.
May 19, 1899
We have been running for weeks, I mean running more than usual. The job they was pulling in Blackwater, robbing that ferry, it turned into a disaster.
Young Jenny got shot, poor thing, but she’s alive for now, while Sean and Mac both got arrested or killed, nobody seems sure which.
Dutch shot a girl, I am not too sure if by accident or design, and seems like it might have been a set up. We took to the hills in an almighty scramble, leaving money and most of our things behind. Then, as we were fleeing east over the Grizzlies, an almighty storm hit us.
Davey Calendar, who got shot in the gut on the raid, passed away. It was brutal to watch, and the rest of us nearly froze, but we found shelter and have been resting in some old abandoned mining town while we await the thaw.
Hardly the spring I had been hoping for. Hosea and I had been planning a robbery of our own in Blackwater, but I guess that’s been abandoned along with most of what I owned—though I am hardly the only one to lose things since the ferry job.
I am profoundly concerned as to what happens next, once we leave this place or the law finds us cowering up here. Hosea and Dutch seem to think the latter won’t happen, and Charles agrees, says it’s a miracle we made it up the mountain like we did with the wagons and injured folks, and law won’t be too inclined to follow. Maybe we can make them believe we perished up here, certainly feels like we will.
We ain’t the only ones up here, and we ain’t the only ones suffering. Found a woman, her husband had been murdered by some of Colm O’Driscoll’s boys. —nasty business—
Then Javier and I went and found Marston, lost in the storm and nearly eaten up by wolves. I’d like to say I was half inclined to leave him up there, but Javier would never let me. Maybe this will teach him a lesson.
We have only been here three days, but it already feels like weeks. The good mood from Blackwater has been left behind like everything else, though Hosea and Zoey are doing their damndest to keep spirits up, Hosea with his charm and Zoey in any way she can. Guard duty sure is a lot less awful when she comes bearing hot coffee and crackers what seems like every hour. Even caught Charles watching her retreat back to the girls’ cabin—I pretended not to notice.
I can only hope we aren’t stuck up here too much longer.
May 21, 1899
Seems Colm O’Driscoll had the same ideas as us.
He’s been hiding up here, scouting out a train he wanted to rob. The same night we first came on Colter, we bumped into some of his boys at some farmstead they was robbing, found that poor woman whose husband they had murdered—Sadie Adler—and she’s now riding with us as she ain’t got no place better to be. Then today, Dutch being Dutch and his hatred for Colm being just as powerful as ever it was, whole bunch of us went to pay him a visit in his camp, but he escaped. We grabbed his train robbing plans and one of his boys. Poor bastard ain’t spoken yet, but he will once we freeze him and set Bill on him. Been a bad few weeks, but we’re mostly still alive.
Dutch being Dutch, he is busy making plans and figuring out just how we’re going to survive. And Dutch being Dutch, those plans involve robbery and dreams.
May 24, 1899
Finally, a thaw in the god awful weather. We got off the mountain after robbing the train—belonging to some rich oil man named Leviticus Cornwall—and rode east into some pretty enough country called the Heartlands.
Ain’t been this far east in many a year. Hosea seems to know the country a little. There ain’t many places he ain’t been in his life.
Ain’t been much of a spring. Now holed up at a place called Horseshoe Overlook, outside of some dumpy little cattle town, name of VALENTINE—Dutch seems a little better. His eyes are sparkling once more and I can tell he’s thinking a little clearer.
I think we all feel much happier now, off that mountain, in spite of Blackwater and that whole mess.
May 26, 1899
Headed into Valentine with Uncle and some of the girls—Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen. Jenny is still recovering, her leg still giving her problems and Lenny still hovering over her despite Miss Grimshaw repeatedly driving him off. I do not know where Zoey or Abigail had gotten off to, but I imagine they will want to venture out soon enough as well. And poor Mrs. Adler keeps to herself most days. I do not blame her.
The girls went scouting out work while Uncle and I had a few drinks and he explained more of his theories on existence and bare faced lies about his past. I tried to sleep through as much of it as I could.
Things took a strange turn—after “rescuing” Karen from some drunk fella who punched her, the bastard, some other fella seemed to recognize me, or us from Blackwater. Guess we had been holed up there too long, like Hosea feared, while he and I scouted the job that never was. I chased the bastard and he nearly fell off a cliff. I spared him and he gave me an ink pen.
I hope I won’t regret my leniency, but I reckon he got the scare of his life. Jimmy Brooks was his name.