#Content Warning: Shoa

[originalleftist]

Read This.

With people like Candace Owens spreading misinformation about medical experiments at Auschwitz, it is important to be literate in this aspect of Holocaust history.

TW below the cut for: medical experimentation and malpractice, forced sterilization, antisemitism, anti-roma and sinti racism, discussion of concentration camps and the Holocaust. I will not include any photos. My source for everything is this book, published by the Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum.

There were more Nazi "doctors" at Auschwitz than I will be able to cover in this post. It is important to note that these "doctors" did not just perform experiments, but they also played a direct role in the genocide of the Jews at Auschwitz by participating in "selections." During these "selections," prisoners or prospective prisoners were chosen to be sent to the gas chambers. I say prospective prisoners because a selection usually took place at arrival upon the camp, with most children, the elderly, and anyone unfit for work, or for some people,just because, were sent immediately to the gas chambers without even being registered in the camp. This is a process that is unique to Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Josef Mengele is by far the most famous SS "doctor" at Auschwitz. He was the head physician of the sector of Auschwitz II - Birkenau which held Roma and Sinti families, before the camp was "liquidated" which mean that every man, woman and child in it were sent to the gas chambers. Mengele performed experiments related to twins, people with dwarfism, and a disease called noma (don't look it up its gross).

Lorenc Andreas Menasche and his twin sister were experimented on by Josef Mengele. Menasche testified about undergoing experimentation with his sister:

"They also gave us injections all over our bodies. As a result of these injections, my sister fell ill. Her neck swelled up as a result of a severe infection. They sent her to the hospital and operated on her without anesthetic in primitive conditions"

Elzbieta Piekut-Warszawska, an Auschwitz prisoner forced to assist with Mengele's experiments, describes experiments on Jewish twins:

"Drops were also put into their eyes. I did not see the procedure itself, since they took the children into the next room. Some pairs of children received drops in both eyes, and others only in one. I was ordered to observed the reactions, and not to intervene in any way in case of any changes... The results of these practices were very painful for the victims. They suffered from severe swelling of the eyelids, a burning sensation, and intense watering of hte eyes"

Dr. Miklos Nyiszli, a Hungarian Jew, was also forced to assist Dr. Mengele. He describes being forced to perform autopsies on a pair of "small twins" who:

"... died [were killed] simultaneously... Their death makes it possible to carry out autopsies on them, intended to solve the mystery of reproduction."

Nyiszli says that Mengele was interested in twins with the aim of "increas[ing] the birth rate of the 'higher race'"

At the same time, two separate "doctors," Carl Clauberg and Horst Schumann, were performing sterilization experiments on Jewish prisoners in order to find an effective method of mass sterilization.

Clauberg's experiments involved introducing chemicals into the reproductive organs of Jewish women. Alina Białostocka, an Auschwitz prisoner who was forced to assist Clauberg testified that

"[the] procedure was carried out brutally, and often caused complications"

When it "worked," the procedure left women forcibly sterilized for life.

Horst Schumann's experiments involved the use of x-ray on male and female genitalia. According to Felicja Pleszowska, an Auschwitz prisoner forced to assist with experiments, Schumann's experiments were

"very painful and dangerous to life. There were frequent cases of men dying immediately after such procedures"

From the combined victims of these two men, only very few individuals survived.

Eduard Wirths, Friedrich Entress, Helmuth Vetter, Fritz Klein, Werner Rhode, Hans Wilhem Konig, Victor Capesius and Bruno Weber all tested pharmaceuticals on Auschwitz prisoners on behalf of companies like Bayer (which still exist and operate).

I cannot stress enough the mortality rate of all the medical experiments that took place in Auschwitz. I cannot stress enough the harm done to those who survived. I cannot stress enough the fact that the information I have provided here is just the tip of the iceberg, and that these experiments were VERY well documented BY THE NAZIS THEMSELVES.

This is horrifying. This is real. And we cannot let people insult the memory of these horrors by manipulating historical fact for selfish gain.

[sometimesitrytowritethings]

Outlaw: Part 2

Mountain Man | Part 1 | PART 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Canon-typical violence, Stalking, Implied future assault, Fear of death

Summary: All you wanted was to be left alone, to forget Arthur Morgan existed entirely. But, damn it, fate still had other plans in mind.

Notes: Trying to post every week. Here you go! This chapter has some dark content in it towards the end. I have triggered it with what I can think of, but if you feel another trigger should be added PLEASE let me know and I am happy to add it.

-----

It had been a solid two weeks since your last encounter with Arthur, and you had since seen neither hair nor hide of the man or his friends around Valentine. Maybe they had finally moved on to terrorise some other poor livestock town.

If so, good riddance. 

He and his friends were not welcome around here as far as you were concerned, especially if they were taking advantage of your neighbors. And, admittedly, you may have still been slightly bitter about your parting with Arthur a few weeks before you had seen him last.

The sting of his words to you on that night still resonated in your mind. “I can't give you the life you deserve, and I shoa as hell can't be the man you deserve.” He was right; you did deserve better than him. You scoffed to yourself, shedding your gloves and putting them into your jacket pockets as you stepped into the crowded building. 

As usual for almost any night in Valentine, Smithfield’s Saloon was abustle with dozens of travelling livestock workers, a handful of working women, and a large number of locals who had nothing better to do with their time. The smoky air wrapped itself around you as you hung up your coat, searching for your friends in their normal position at the end of the bar.

That night, Anastasia leaned against the wooden wall, talking with Frank as his hands plucked away at the pianoforte. Margaret must have been hired for the night. You rubbed warmth into your hands and made your way over to your friend, admiring her freshly done hair and new dress. 

“Well, don’t you look fresh and lovely this evening?” you chided, reaching her side and flagging down Quentin behind the bar. “Just a beer for now, please,” you nodded at him, before turning back to your friend. “Where did you find this? Surely not in Valentine?” 

The two of you laughed lightly, while she modeled the new dress for you. “No, no. Of course not!” she teased, slapping your arm lightly. “There’s a new gentleman in town who is willing to pay for the night… and your secrecy. A real high-society type,” she explained, glancing around the room before moving close to your ear. “I didn’t catch his name, but he did come in with a group of fancy-lookin’ men and someone who looked an awful lot like the pictures in the paper of Leviticus Cornwall.” With a smirk, she pulled away from you and leaned back against the wall. “He brought a lovely set of dresses with him from Saint Denis and said I could have my pick.”

“Oh, really?” you mentioned, making an amused face at your friend. “Next time, you should direct him to me for a bath beforehand. Lord knows, I could use a new dress or two!” you laughed and turned to pick up your beer from the counter as the doors swung open once again.

The sudden blast of cold, outdoor air was followed by loud, jovial laughter from a group of men. Two familiar faces greeted you as they dragged a third, obviously drunk man into the building.

“Com’on lads! Join me!” called the drunken man, jostling his companions. “‘N’ its NO! Nay! Never!” he began. His companions remained silent by his side, rolling their eye. “Ah, you bastards ‘re no fun.”

The two dumped their friend unceremoniously at the empty table in front of the piano and walk over to the bar to order drinks. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Anastasia immediately perk up at their familiar faces. “Well hello again, boys,” she crooned, leaning back to push up her ample cleavage. “I ain’t seen you around here in a while, thought you had abandoned me.” She finished with a small giggle, hiding her face with her hand in fake modesty. 

The man you remember as Javier made his way past you upon hearing her voice, obviously ready to play her game. “Oh no, mi amor, we would never leave without saying goodbye to the most beautiful girls in town,” he flirted, eyes roaming over her new dress. Ever the gentlemen, he reached out to place a lingering kiss on her hand. 

“Oh, what a charmer!” she teased, slapping his hand lightly away with a smile. “Now let me get you a drink. Quentin!” She called for the man, who was in the midst of serving another group of particularly unruly looking patrons at the end of the bar. Though, you thought nothing of it. Plenty of groups of unscrupulous looking men came through town looking for work, this group was likely nothing different. 

The other man, Charles, if you remembered correctly, leaned against the counter next to you, waiting for his drink. “How have you been?” he asked, looking you over. 

You were, admittedly, slightly confused. You knew that Arthur was friends with these men, but had assumed that he had kept your… whatever you had had… relatively private. Apparently, you had been wrong. “I’ve been fine, why do you ask?” you responded, forcing a small smile to your face. You did not want to discuss Arthur tonight. Ideally, you would be able to purge the man from your mind entirely.

That was apparently not going to happen.

He grunted slightly, seeming to know that your answer was a lie. “He didn’t tell me anything, you know,” he explained after a short time. “Just noticed he was acting differently. Thought something might have happened.” 

You cleared your throat and turned your focus to a knot in the wooden floor. “I’m not sure what…” you stopped yourself for a moment, fully aware that Charles would likely see through your ruse regardless of your acting. “...who you are referring to.”

His scoff was quiet, but you still managed to hear it over the din of the surrounding conversations. There was nothing you wanted more than to end this conversation and go to another part of the bar, but leaving Anastasia when you had just arrived wasn’t ideal. Luckily, the men’s drinks arrived shortly. Charles grabbed them and moved to sit at the table with only a nod in your direction.

Unluckily, Javier invited the two of you to join them.

You immediately opened your mouth to protest, not wanting to inadvertently dwell on the past month by spending time with the men. However, Anastasia didn’t give you a chance to answer, and instead grabbed you by the arm and dragged you to an empty seat. When did she get such a strong grip?

The old chair creaked lightly as you sat between Charles and the other man. He was young, probably a few years younger than yourself, with shocking red hair and a missing tooth. His grin grew wide as he looked over the two of you. 

“‘N’ who did you boys bring me? You buy me a nice welcome back present?” he laughed, clapping Javier on the back. 

You scoffed and raised an eyebrow at the man - he was three sheets to the wind already. 

“Shut up, Sean,” Javier laughed. “Why would we spend more money on you when we already risked our lives to save your ass?” 

“Well, I thought you just missed me so much! Life ain’t the same without good ol’ MacGuire ‘round to liven up the party!” he held up his fresh bottle of beer as if to toast himself, and proceeded to immediately down the entire thing. “Especially not with ol’ English walkin’ ‘round with a stick up his arse.”

Javier let out a loud laugh, while Charles chuckled and glanced over to you, gauging your reaction. 

You cleared your throat and glanced away, looking for anyone else you knew, and wanting to avoid the upcoming conversation entirely. Across the room, the group of unknown rough-looking men continued to glance at the small posse around your table. 

“Sean, this is Anastasia,” Javier proceeded, indicating to the woman by his side and again glancing her up and down flirtatiously. He then introduced you to the drunk man, who seemed to have a revelation upon hearing your name.

 “Aha!” he exclaimed, slamming an open hand on the table. “So that’s her, is it?” his eyes roamed over your body as he spoke, a knowing grin on his face before he leaned in to talk directly to you. You could smell the beer and whisky on his breath, as strong as a bottle itself. “Ya know, at first, I thought it was ‘cause ‘ol Dead Eye MacGuire was back in town, ‘n’ the big man was jealous,” he explained, as if you would automatically know what he was talking about.

You did.

If the other two knew Arthur, it would make sense that this man, Sean, would know him as well.

“Then he just didn’t stop walkin’ aroun’ like an ol’ grump, chewin’ everyone out for the littlest shite. Javier and Charles here clued me in, ‘n’ said a beautiful woman in town had broken his poor heart. I s’pose that’d be you?” his grin grew wider at the look on your face.

“Sean…” you hear Charles warn as he stood to order another beer for his friend.

“Hey! ‘M just curious ‘bout what she’s done to get the big man so-” he was immediately cut off by a smack to the back of his head from Javier.

You sighed and toyed with your half-empty beer bottle. You had really only come to see your friends, and since both of them were now occupied, there was no need for you to stay. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Sean and the others seemed friendly enough, but you didn’t particularly want to stay around if this was what the conversation would amount to.

Again, you glanced to the end of the bar, relieved to see that the men from earlier had left. It should be safe enough to walk back then.

Resolute, you downed the last half of your beer and stood from the table. “Well, thank you very much for your time, gentlemen,” you started, glancing at each of them and then to Anastasia, who was mooning over Javier and had her hand precariously placed on his thigh. It was most definitely time to leave. You didn’t want to be stuck with two strangers while your friend sealed the deal.  “It’s been lovely, but I need to be getting home. I’ll see you later, Ana?”

“Oh?” she snapped suddenly out of her reverie, and looked at you. “Leavin’ already, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, Ben should be about ready for bed, and he wanted me to read a story to him tonight,” you lied. Ben adored spending time with Ms. Chadwick, who was watching over him, and probably would have been completely fine for the rest of the night. “Duty calls!”

Before the others could get a word in edgewise, you marched over to your coat, pulled it on and were out the door. You adored your friends, but too many times had you been left on your own as they seduced men into the upstairs rooms. Most of the time it was fine, you knew enough people in town to chat with others. But this time, when the conversation was headed directly toward Arthur Morgan, and when Anastasia was about fifteen minutes from making some money, you had no desire to remain.

You buttoned up your coat and pulled on your gloves on the Saloon porch before setting out toward the old farm-turned-boarding house. Luckily it wasn’t all that far, and would take maybe ten minutes of brisk walking to get home. 

You were out of the town quickly, past the stables and free of the muddy streets when you first heard them. Several loud, drunken voices trailed behind you. Pausing for only a moment, you could make out what they were saying in the quiet night.

“Yeah, that’s her alright,” came the drunken Irish accent that you recognised from the bar. “Bitch was hanging all over Dutch’s boys. Ain’t even a whore. Seen ‘er with Arthur Morgan the other day.”

You froze in place as their voices drew nearer, unsure of what to do. They had followed you. They had been watching you in the bar and they had followed you home. They had seen you with Charles, Javier and Sean. They had seen you with Arthur and they had fucking followed you home because of it.

Inside you were panicking, but your body wouldn’t allow you to move. You could hear their voices draw nearer, their footsteps rustling the grass as they approached. A burst of laughter reached your ears from all too close for comfort. “Ha! The bitch ‘s waiting for us!” came a drunken voice from only a short distance away. “Colm’ll be happy to have her willingly.”

The sound of their footsteps picked up pace and drew ever nearer. Soon enough you could hear them next to you, you could feel their rancid breath on your neck. “Maybe we oughta have a taste first,” came a hot, hoarse voice from directly next to you. He reached out and dragged a calloused finger along your cheek before it was suddenly and roughly slapped away by one of his companions.

“Dammit Jim, keep yer damn cock in yer pants,” the other man’s tone was more joking than it was scolding. “Ya know damn well Colm’ll want ‘er intact before ‘e squeezes information outta ‘er.” He ended with a loud laugh, and you could hear the sound of his hand clapping on his friend’s shoulder. “She ain’t movin’. Let’s get ‘er outta here, gents.”

At that, you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, and your body suddenly came back to life. “NO!” you shrieked, squirming in the man’s arms. Your body surged with adrenaline, your heart pounding as you did your best to kick,punch and scratch your way out of the man’s grasp.

“What the hell?” was his surprised yelp as soon as you had started moving. Somehow, you had managed to connect an elbow with his nose, and he reeled backwards, dropping his hold on you to wipe his blooded face. 

You heard the quiet cock of a gun to your right. “Bitch wants to put up a fight then?” the man’s voice was oddly excited, sadistic. “Just how I like ‘em.” Turning, you were met face to face with the barrel of a pistol. 

For some reason, you didn’t freeze this time. You were face to face with almost certain death, but this time, your muscles worked with you. As quickly as possible you darted to your left, away from the man with the gun and his two companions. The further away you ran, the less chance they would have of hitting you, you thought. And the smaller the chance of the shot killing you.

Right?

The blast of a gun reached your ears.  This was it, you would surely die. They would find your body the next morning, covered in blood and dirt. They would know it was you, and Ben would have yet another parent in the ground.

Another gunshot. And another.

One of these had to have hit. You were far too close for them to miss every single time.

“Shit!” The panicked yell should have been frustrated. He should have been reloading his gun to shoot once again. Or chasing after you with a knife or lasso. By all accounts, the three men should have been able to quickly and easily overtake you.

Instead, your attacker sounded terrified. Almost as if they were being chased by a gang of outlaws. Almost as if they had just been shot by a man trailing them in the dark of the night.

You slowed to a stop at the thought. Someone had helped you. Someone had miraculously stumbled across the scene and saved your life. Hesitantly, you turned to face your savior, hoping that you were right. Hoping that they wouldn’t follow in the footsteps of the men they had just shot at.

The dark made it hard to see exactly what had happened, but in the starlight you could make out four bodies. Two men were slumped on the ground in an unmoving heap. One man was running away, noticeably limping. Finally, you saw one man standing, silhouetted against the light of the distant town, a smoking gun in his hand.

Holding your breath, you found that you still were completely unable to move. You wanted to run, to flee to your home and lay with your son in bed, but your feet were lead on the ground.

You could see the figure, silhouetted against the light of the town, moving towards you. Their movements were slow, careful, like they were calming a spooked horse. Gently, your name cut through the air before the person, your saviour, spoke, “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

You recognised the voice. You couldn’t place who was speaking, or even where you knew them from, but you recognised it enough to know that the person wouldn’t hurt you. 

They continued making their way towards you, speaking quietly the entire time so that you could gauge their distance. You heard the sound of a gun being holstered mere feet away from you, and focused on his face. Finally, he was close enough to make out his features. 

Charles.

Filled with relief, as well as overcome with the sudden drop in adrenaline, you collapsed into his arms as soon as he reached you. “Shit,” you heard his mumble as you breathed deeply, waiting for your sudden dizziness to subside. “Can you hear me?”

The night spun in front of you as you felt your body being led slowly to the damp ground. “Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Charles instructed, kneeling beside you and holding you up. “Easy, easy. Breathe.”

You followed his instructions, in through your nose, out through your mouth, until the world was no longer spinning. Heart still pounding, you looked over at the man who had saved your life. “Thank you,” you managed, voice trembling.

“It’s fine,” his response was short and honest, as if he was only doing what was right. Now that you were finally able to sit up on your own, he stood beside you and whistled for his horse. “We have to get you out of here.”

Out of here? What was he talking about? Your home was only a few meters away. You would be safe there. 

As if reading your mind, he continued, “Those men, one got away, and he knows where you live.” His explanation went right over your head. 

You closed your eyes and gripped the grass beneath your hands to steady yourself again. “But there… there were only three of them, why-” your voice was still trembling, your heart still pounding, as you tried to process what had happened, what he was telling you. 

Those men, they had attacked you. And for what?

They had mentioned something about Arthur, hadn’t they? But you hadn’t seen Arthur in weeks. Hell, even if you had, why would they care?

“They’re part of a larger gang,” he cut you off, his tone urgent, short, as his horse trotted in your direction. “You can stay with us, just for the night.” Although his responses were short, they were enough. Apparently, the wrong people had just gotten very angry with you.

“I-” you started, pulling yourself shakily to your feet. “But… my house… ” hands shaking, you pointed to the building in the distance. “I just… I need…”

You felt strong hands beneath your shoulders as he hoisted you off the ground. Your legs felt like jelly the moment you stood, and threatened to give way with any movement. “Your house will be fine, but it isn’t safe here tonight,” he explained further, wrapping a hand behind your back to keep you balanced as he led you over to the horse.

The house would be fine, he was right. They would come back and see it was empty, that you weren’t there. They would break in, and find an empty bed and…

“Ben!” the image of your son flashed through your mind like lightning, and you stopped in your tracks, legs finally willing to work once more. “No, no, we can’t leave without Ben.” Finally, your voice was no longer wavering. You stood and looked at the man to your side, resolute. “I will come with you, but not without my son.”

Charles hesitated for only a second before nodding. “I understand.” 

The house wasn’t all that far away, so the two of you jogged the last few meters, leading the horse behind you. Mentally, you made a list of things that you should grab for the evening: blankets, water, a few tins of food, just in case. Ben would want his toy, and probably his drawing, but those could easily be packed away in a satchel. How would the three of you fit on a horse together?

Ben was only five, and still rather small, but two adults and a child on this poor horse seemed a bit excessive. 

But Mrs. Chadwick had a horse. A sturdy old Shire named Buttercup who was more of a packhorse than anything, but it would have to do. You would need to leave a note for your landlady so that she didn’t assume she had been robbed.

Finally, you reached the door to the house, careful of the creaking stairs as you entered. The door swung open with a groan, and then everything was quiet. There were only the sounds of the rustling leaves outside and your heart pounding in your ears. Quickly, quietly, you gestured for Charles to stay and guard the door as you darted upstairs to your rented room.

A large, old bag had been stuffed into your meager wardrobe, under several pairs of boots, and you worked to get it out. Quickly, you put Ben’s winter jacket and a pair of gloves to the side and stuffed a blanket in the bag. Only one would fit, but it would have to do. From your bedside table, you gathered Ben’s treasured drawing of a horse, a few of your valuables that you didn’t want stolen, a photograph of yourself and Andrew, and scribbled a note for Ms. Chadwick. 

From under the bed, you pried up a floorboard and pulled out a small stack of cash, what was leftover from the money refused by the Downes family, and pocketed it. Finally, from the window you grabbed Ben’s toy horse, which he had once again set out to look out for you. 

“Ben,” you whispered, the bag slung over your shoulder and his horse in your hand. “Ben, sweetheart,” you rocked his shoulder gently, and then combed lightly through his hair as he woke. “Come on, sweetheart, we need to go. I’ve got your boots and jacket ready.”

Groggy, he looked up at you and rubbed his eyes. “Go?” he mumbled, his voice still heavy with sleep. “Where are we going, Mama?” Slowly, you coaxed him into a sitting position and handed him his toy.

“Do you remember in Otis Miller, how they camp out under the stars?” you asked, turning him to face the edge of the bed and gathering his day clothes from a nearby chair. He nodded, as you proceeded to get him dressed. “Well, we will be doing that tonight, how does that sound?”

He nodded sleepily, rubbing his eyes again as you tried to shove his feet into his boots. “Sounds fun, I guess,” was his murmured response. He clutched his toy horse to his chest and stood, allowing you to pull on his coat. 

“Well, we need to hurry or we will miss all of the lovely stars!” you told him, trying your best to sound calm. 

It wasn’t working.

“Alright, Mama,” he mumbled, wobbling on his feet, still half asleep. 

It would be better this way, you told yourself. He wouldn’t be awake to protest, and he could fall asleep on the back of the horse and you can just carry him to… well, to wherever you would sleep that night.

“Great, thank you sweetheart,” you responded, readjusting the bag on your shoulder and hoisting Ben up to your hip. He really was getting far too big to carry like this, but there wasn’t time for him to walk.

You moved out the door as fast as you could, calling quietly for Charles when you reached the top of the stairs. “Would you mind carrying him to the horse?” Charles nodded in agreement and met you at the top of the stairs, reaching out for your son. “Alright, Ben, this is my friend Charles, he’s going to carry you to the horse, alright?”

Ben looked apprehensive, but allowed himself to be picked up by the stranger. “Alright, I’ll run to the barn and get Buttercup and meet you out front,” you said, brushing past the two and down the stairs. 

Charles followed you, Ben clinging to his shoulders, until you had all gathered outside of the house. You dropped your bag unceremoniously beside the horse, and dashed to the barn to saddle Buttercup. Keeping yourself calm, so as not to spook the poor horse, you pulled a worn saddle from off a hook on the wall, and got to work. Luckily, although old and weary, Buttercup did not spook easily anymore, and stayed quiet through the entire process.

Only a few minutes later, you emerged from the barn, horse reigns in hand. 

“We’re going to take Buttercup with us, Mama?” Ben asked through a yawn from where he was standing next to Charles. You could see that Charles had graciously strapped your bag to the back of the horse, and would be ready to ride out as soon as Ben was mounted.

“Yes, sweetheart, just for a little while” you said, reaching him and giving his hair a ruffle. “I left Ms. Chadwick a note though, it will be ok.” Once the horse had stilled, you turned to mount it, and held out your arms for Ben. 

Charles lifted the boy with ease, settling him into the space in front of you. He then mounted his own horse, and you were off. The chill in the wind was only made worse as you cantered past the lights of Valentine, making sure to avoid the spot where you knew two bodies would be plainly visible come morning. You could feel Ben start to shake from the cold beneath you, and hugged him tighter to your chest. “Just duck your head down, sweetheart, we won’t be riding long. I promise.” 

Thankfully, your promise held true. Within twenty minutes, you reached a small clearing on what you had always known as Horseshoe Overlook. You slowed your horse as you neared, jumping slgihtly at the call of “Who’s there?” from the trees, and the subsequent anser from Charles.

“Charles, and I brought a friend.”

You hitched your horse next to Charles on a few makeshift hitching posts on the outskirts of a hastily-built camp. What had once been an empty location, perfect for summer picnics and romantic dates, now housed a dozen tents and wagons. They were set up in a circle, surrounding a few tables and one large, ornate tent. 

A few people sat by the fire, glancing momentarily in your direction before going back to their previous conversation. Javier, you saw, was playing guitar; a slow, sad melody in Spanish. A man with a familiar mop of red hair was bent over the table, fast asleep, beer still in hand.

You followed Charles, who had picked up a now sleeping Ben from your horse and was carrying him towards a wagon on the edge of camp. Luckily, no one met you on the path, and there was no need to explain anything to any strangers.

Upon reaching the wagon, Charles laid Ben on a small cot, and covered him gently with a blanket. “The two of you can stay here for the night,” he explained as you looked around the small space. A couple of tables, a small chest, a few pictures and trinkets here and there. It was probably cozier than some of the other tents you had seen, but it still wasn’t much.

Charles made his way out from under the small awning, and unravelled two canvas flaps to offer a semblance of privacy. “It’s Arthur’s,” he said finally, seeing you gazing at a photo of three men pinned to the side of the wagon. “He won’t mind.”

You swallowed and brushed your fingers across some of the trinkets. A horseshoe, a flower, a photo of a woman… Mary? “Are you sure?” you asked, looking over to your son. He was fast asleep, out like a light. “We didn’t… well, we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

After searching your face for further clues, Charles nodded. “It’ll be fine,” he said, trying to reassure you.

“And… where is he now? Is he coming back tonight?” 

With a low chuckle, Charles shook his head. “Probably not. He usually likes to camp out for a day or two on hunting trips,” he told you. “Should be back tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

You knelt next to the cot and brushed your fingers through your son’s hair. Even if Arthur did come back that night, or the next morning, and saw you there, this was safer. Running the risk of facing the friends of those men wasn’t worth avoiding Arthur. “Alright,” you breathed, looking up at Charles again. He was standing just inside the awning, ready to head to his own tent, you supposed. “... Thank you, Charles.”

He nodded again, looking over the two of you with a small smile. “You’re welcome,” he replied, stepping back out of the small space. “My tent is across the camp, over by the fire if you need anything.” Without another word, he left, leaving the two of you alone in the dark. Leaving you alone, surrounded by memories of the one man you were trying your best to forget.