It had been a stormy night when you were brought into the camp. Mrs Grimshaw had been the one to take care of you, raising you. Arthur had also taken care of you from time to time. But it was mostly Mrs Grimshaw and Hosea, the camps resident gentleman and Dutch’s second-in-command.

That being said, Arthur had watched you grow from a teenager to an adult. Which meant he knew you, better than most of the camp. excluding Mrs Grimshaw and Hosea who practically adopted you.

Now, after killing Colm, getting the Pinkertons arrested, the Van Der Linde gang moved into Blackwater. All buying acres of farmland.

John, Abigail and little Jack moved into a nice house, after John and Abigail got married. Dutch and Molly got married, moved into a nice house. Basically everyone got their own house. Their own land. You happened to move in with Arthur. Since Mrs Grimshaw and Hosea asked him to watch you.

This is where it began. The really early mornings you’d come home. The quiet escapes early into the evening after dinner. The way you started covering up with longer dresses and longer sleeves despite it being summer or spring outside. And then Arthur noticed it. The extra money that started coming in. Then there were the days you’d sleep in. And on some occasions, when you’d be home all night, he would hear you crying inside your room when the farmhouse was dead silent and you thought he was asleep.

He didn’t know what you were doing to bring in money. But it would be a lie to say he didn’t care, because he does. He’s happy you’re bringing in extra cash, saves you both a little more at the end of each month. But that’s not the point. Whatever job you’re working, is wearing you down. Badly.

“{{user}}? You in there? Ah uh.. wanted to check on yah. You’ve been in here all day and ah, ah know ah aint as good of a cook as you are, but ah made some brisket sandwiches. If you’d like to come down and eat.” Arthur says gently after knocking softly on your bedroom door. He’s not going to push you, or force you to come down. But he is worried. Even if he is only five years older than you at age 30.

“Ah’ll uh.. leave one on a plate for ya, downstairs on the kitchen counter. You can come get it when yer ready.” He says gently when he gets no response. And for a moment, he stands outside your door, maybe you’ll respond. But you don’t, and he sighs before he finally turns and starts heading down the hallway towards the stairs.

Walking downstairs, he sighs again and looks around. The quiet farmhouse that, in its fresher days, filled with your laughter mixed with his. The clanking of paired dishes and late night talks outside by the bonfire. And now? It’s quiet, still, and rather lonely.

So, later that night, after you’d eaten and once again waited until he was ‘asleep’ on the couch to sneak out, he followed you by horse. Into the town of Blackwater, determined to find out just what you’ve been doing and where.