Chapter Text
— SUN., JULY 27, 1880 —
I’m not really sure where to start. But maybe admittin’ I don’t know where to start is the best place to begin.
That sounds mighty profound now that it’s down on paper (or maybe more pompous), but it’s the truth. My life hasn’t much lent itself to the kind of leisure I always assumed you’d need to keep a journal — hell, when I was out on the road back east, I barely had time to send letters home! But havin’ been settled for… Trin, over a year now, changes a lot of things, that included.
But at the same time, my life’s hardly full of the kind of excitement that someone might feel the need to write about. I know my journal ain’t for anyone’s eyes other than my own — that it’s not some dime novel that needs to have as many shockin’ twists an’ turns as its hack writer can throw in — but I can’t help but feel that these pages would be wasted on a life as common as mine.
I told Kate that when she offered me this journal, an’ as always, she offered up a whole new perspective on things. Accordin’ to her, what a journal should be for is self-reflection: for gettin’ your thoughts in order, for settin’ yourself straight whenever you feel like you’re in danger of turnin’ wrong. An’ as such (so Kate said), journalin’ should be for everyone: not just the people with the time for it or with important lives to record for posterity.
So, I’ll give this a shot. I mean, I hardly want to turn down Kate’s gift: ‘specially after she offered her extra journal an’ one of her good pens so readily after I complimented her own. Besides, Kate writes all the time, an’ she’s one of the smartest, most self-possessed people I know, so she must be onto somethin’.
Later —
Came home from the hillside with Kate an’ had Sunday dinner with her an’ Eileen, as usual. Pretty sure at this point that if I jus’ invited myself over, neither of ‘em would bat an eyelid, but it is sweet that Kate makes a point of invitin’ me over every week.
… Can’t believe it took me this long to realize that there’s no desk in my room. Then again, I hardly had a need for one before. I’ll ask Maurice tomorrow if he’s got any old furniture kickin’ around — failin’ that, I’ll be repurposin’ one of his saloon’s smaller tables.
— MON., JULY 28, 1880 —
First full day of usin’ this journal, so I suppose I better start off strong: ‘specially since my little attic room now has a desk! Maurice an’ I ended up takin’ a saw to the sides so we could jam it in the window alcove, but at least I won’t be knockin’ my head against the ceilin’ every time I stand.
Rose early an’ had breakfast in the Nettle Sting’s kitchen with Maurice before headin’ to work. Last week, I’d scouted out a location for a new loggin’ camp for the Twin Lakes Lumber Co. — made sure the trees were healthy an’ not too young or old, checked for signs of wildlife that the workers might inadvertently agitate, an’ so on. This week, I just have to make sure the folks settin’ up the camp an’ workin’ the site follow my recommendations. Granted, the veteran lumberjacks always do; they trust Eileen’s good judgment, an’ my skill as a ranger. But the greenhorns are a mixed bag, an’ ever since the Bear Incident early last winter, I like to be close at hand in case I need to save the hide of one of the more foolish ones.
Anyway, that was an all-day affair, but the camp’s almost set up an’ work can properly begin by lunchtime tomorrow if things keep on track. Took dinner up to my room to eat while I write this, so I’m writin’ slow to try to avoid stainin’ the pages… with only moderate success.
— TUES., JULY 29, 1880 —
Besides the new Twin Lakes camp bein’ fully operational (as of lunchtime, as predicted), not much to say.
— WEDS., JULY 30, 1880 —
If my days keep goin’ along, business as usual-like, it’s goin’ to be damn hard to keep a habit of journalin’. I mean, I could write about my routine every single day, but I think that would get real dull after a while.
… Then again, maybe I should be glad things are dull.
— SAT., AUG. 2, 1880 —
“Maybe I should be glad things are dull”... yeah. Really should have appreciated that when I still had the chance to.
So. Like all Saturday nights, I was spendin’ it downstairs in the Nettle Sting proper: drinkin’, gamblin’, an’ jus’ blowin’ off some steam in general. Kate was there for a few hours — me an’ a few other folks convinced her to take over the piano in the corner, an’ she’d gotten a few lively reels out of that busted old thing that had gotten everyone dancin’ an’ stompin’ their feet. But eventually Kate went home, so I’d started playin’ cards with a few folks: Howard an’ Effie, both workers at Twin Lakes that I’ve known for a season or two, an’ Alonzo Rig, a regular at the Nettle Sting.
But after a few hands, Howard an’ Effie had called it quits as well, so it was just me an’ Alonzo. Neither of us had felt like losin’ much more of our money to each other, so we decided to invest in more of Maurice’s honey whiskey instead an’ we just… ended up shootin’ the shit. Which was odd, because Alonzo’s never been the talkative sort — I mean, this weren’t the first night we’ve drank an’ gambled away together at the Nettle Sting, but I’ve never seen him around Raggdale otherwise.
When I asked him why that was, he got real quiet, an’ it took him a long time to finally answer. “Because,” he said flatly, “I’ve been out looking for someone.”
“Lookin’ for who?” I wanted to know.
Alonzo’s face got even more grim. “The outlaws that burned my homestead and slaughtered my family,” he spat. “Bastards call themselves the Wild Hunt. But I’m hunting them now, and I’m not stopping ‘til every last one of them is dead.”
An’ I jus’... fuck. I swear, when Alonzo said that, my heart stopped right then an’ there. Even now, an hour later, I still ain’t sure if it ever got to beatin’ again.
Alonzo saw the look on my face, an’ his own stony expression hardened even further. “You heard of them?”
I lied. Said I hadn’t. I’m not proud of it, but I knew with a story like that, he wouldn’t take kindly to mine. “Didn’t expect to hear that, is all,” I managed. That, at least, was true. “I’m sorry about your family.”
Alonzo snorted. “Sympathy won’t bring them back. Murderin’ the Hunt won’t either.” He stood up, sweepin’ his hat back onto his head. “But it sure as hell will be satisfying.” An’ with that, he drained his glass an’ walked out, leavin’ me alone an’ speechless at the table.
Even though I’m somehow managin’ to get this all down on paper, I still don’t really know what to say, or what to think, or what to do. How long has it been, since Alonzo’s homestead was attacked? Could the Hunt still be lurkin’ around — maybe even in the very forest I was in jus’ this past week? How come they’ve roamed this far from the Trin Mountains?
An’ is it all because they’re still lookin’ for me?
I’ve got so many more questions than answers, but no way to ask ‘em without arousin’ suspicion. Maybe by the time I see Alonzo again, I can figure out a way of askin’ ‘em that won’t set him off, but right now… Trin, I’m so afraid. I really thought I was safe here, after all this time, but if not —
Fuck. Fuck. I don’t know what I’m goin’ to do. Or what I even can do.
— WEDS., AUG. 7, 1880 —
I know I haven’t written that much — or at all — this week. But both work an’ worry have kept me real busy, an’ despite what Kate would claim, not even journalin’ could lift a weight like this off my shoulders.
(Not that Kate knows about Saturday night. But I can tell she’s makin’ an extra effort to be cheerful around me, to try an’ raise my spirits. An’ I appreciate her concern, but… I don’t even know how to begin tellin’ her what’s really wrong.)
Speakin’ of Saturday night… I haven’t seen Alonzo since then. Normally, he would have swung by the Nettle Sting tonight, but I didn’t glimpse so much as a feather. I’m tryin’ to tell myself to not get too worked up over it, that it’s Alonzo ain’t even in Raggdale all the time anyway, but it ain’t workin’.
— FRI., AUG. 9, 1880 —
Rider came through town today, tackin’ up notices on what seems like every bulletin board in Raggdale. Heard whispers about what was on the notice from plenty of Twin Lakes folks more focused on swappin’ gossip than cuttin’ lumber, but I didn’t see the actual advertisement itself until I walked in the Nettle Sting at the end of the workday an’ Maurice handed it to me.
The notice went like this:
WANTED
BRAVE AND ADVENTUROUS SOULS LOOKING FOR IMMENSE FORTUNE
TO BE HIRED BY MS. JESSICA DE LA’COEN
FOR WEALTH BEYOND IMAGINATION
APPLICANTS ARE TO ARRIVE AT HER DRILLING PLANT
JOB WILL BE DESCRIBED AFTER APPLICATION IS ACCEPTED
COWARDS NEED NOT APPLY
I frowned. “‘Jessica De La’Coen’? Who’s she?”
Maurice’s eyebrows shot up. “Only the richest woman in West Gevance is who,” he said, clearly surprised I didn’t know that. “Big oil tycoon. Runs De La’Coen Drilling up north, in the mountains near Harl Kindon.”
“Well, if she’s so rich,” I asked, slidin’ the poster back across the bar, “she can probably have her pick of adventurers or gunslingers or whoever to hire for whatever she pleases. Why’s she sendin’ out a notice like this for any Tom, Dick, or Harry to see?”
“Well, you saw what it said: ‘Cowards need not apply.’” Maurice slid the poster back my way, then started wipin’ down the bar. “Plenty of folks out here want to get rich, but not many are willing to take risks for it.” He shrugged. “De La’Coen’s one of the few who has, and I’d imagine she wants folks of a similar disposition.”
“An’ you’re sayin’ I’m one of those folks?”
Maurice chuckled. “I don’t think you’re not one,” he said. “Besides, even though you have those freelance gigs with Eileen now, I know you’re always looking for a little extra work.” He tapped the poster. “And if you get a job like this, Jo, you wouldn’t have to worry about money for a good long while.”
“If De La’Coen’s as rich as you say, I’ve no doubt of that.” I crossed my arms an’ leaned on the bar. “But I can make do as is. I jus’ — I’d like to stick around Raggdale for as long as I can.”
Maurice gave me an oddly searchin’ look. “This about Kate?”
I blinked. “What about Kate?”
Didn’t think Maurice’s eyebrows could go any higher, but somehow they did. “Ah, never mind,” he said after a beat. “And never mind De La’Coen’s notice either. Just thought it might be something you’d be interested in.” He turned to the shelves of liquor behind the bar. “Anyway, what’ll your poison be tonight?”
An’ that was the end of that conversation, thankfully. I mean, I’ve no doubt that Maurice means well. He’s been good to me since the day I rolled into Raggdale with nothin’ but the clothes on my back — he’s the reason I have a roof over my head, an’ at least half the reason I’ve found as much work around this town as I have.
But leavin’ Raggdale… if the Hunt’s still around, I wouldn’t want to give ‘em a chance to get at me alone on the open road. But if I stay here, I could be puttin’ everyone I know an’ care about in danger: Maurice, Eileen, Kate —
Also, what the hell did Maurice mean to say about Kate? I’m not denyin’ I want to stay in Raggdale because of her — I might be friendly with Maurice an’ Eileen, but at the end of the day, they’ve still been my boss at one time or another. Kate is my friend, full stop: maybe one of the only ones I’ve ever had.
… Okay, so maybe sometimes I wish that we weren’t just friends. An’ sometimes, I think that maybe, Kate might feel the same way. But… leavin’ out the fact that I work for her ma, there’s just a lot in the way. Most of it me, an’ all of that my past. An’ most of all, the kind of people I hung around with — an’ who I loved before.
Kate’s about as far from Deb as a person can get; I know that. But if I did tell Kate about the Hunt, about Deb, about all of it… even if she don’t drive me off outright, she’ll look at me differently from then on out.
An’ the thought of her hatin’ me hurts me worse than all my worry about the Hunt.
— SAT., AUG. 10, 1880 —
Still no sign of Alonzo. I was at the Nettle Sting until Maurice shut the bar down an’ shooed the stragglers out to the porch, an’ I didn’t see him the entire night. I asked around, too, but no one had seen him since Saturday night. “And even so,” they all said without fail, brows furrowed in confusion, “weren’t you the last one to speak with him, Jo?”
Trin, what if the Hunt really did catch up to him? I don’t want to believe it, but if they already had it out for his kin…
— SUN., AUG. 11, 1880 —
De La’Coen’s notice was still on the Nettle Sting’s bulletin board when I came downstairs this mornin’. An’ I’ve been starin’ at it for what feels like the whole day.
Might have made my choice a lot quicker or easier if I actually knew what the job entailed. But if it gets me far away from Raggdale — an’ leads the Hunt away, too — then I think that jus’ about makes my choice for me. Plus, the kind of money I’d get for this job gives me options: chief among them a way to stay a step ahead of the Hunt for as long as I have to.
Maybe takin’ up De La’Coen on her job offer jus’ to run away from everythin’ else is a cowardly plan. But never let it be said that I’m a coward. Afraid of the past, maybe — an’ rightfully so — but not of what the future might bring.
… Shit, the day really did get away from me. Goin’ to miss Sunday dinner if I don’t go now.
Later —
Pulled aside Eileen after dinner to let her know that I was lookin’ to leave Raggdale this week for other work. She was fine with it — I had a feelin’ she would be; my latest gig with Twin Lakes had long since wrapped up — but she was less fine with me askin’ her to not break the news to Kate jus’ yet.
“You better tell her yourself before you go,” Eileen ordered, an’ that steely look in her eyes added loud an’ clear: Or else.
I swallowed. “I will.”
Her gaze didn’t soften. “I’m holdin’ you to that, Jo.”
I will. I know I have to. I jus’ don’t know how I can do it quite yet.
— TUES., AUG. 12, 1880 —
Finished makin’ all my final arrangements today. Tried to pay Maurice for my room for the next two months or so, since I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but he waved it away. “Come back when you’ve got De La’Coen’s money,” he said with a laugh. “We’ll square away rent then.”
Anyway. What I needed to pack is all packed: provisions, a map, my bow an’ hatchet, my campin’ equipment… anythin’ I might need. All I need to do tomorrow mornin’ is swing by the stables an’ get Bobbie an’ then… three days of hard ridin’, maybe two if all goes well, before I hit De La’Coen Drilling. An’ hopefully, I won’t have to immediately turn around an’ come back.
… I should head to the hillside soon. Kate’s probably already there waitin’.
— WEDS., AUG. 13, 1880 —
Left Raggdale before the sun rose an’ I’ve been ridin’ north ever since. Accordin’ to my map, I’m somewhere in the plains between Justice an’ Penango: both towns I’ve never been to. Probably could have stopped in Justice, found a room to spend the night in before movin’ on, but I really wanted to try an’ cover as much ground as possible.
Besides, it’s been a while since I slept out under the stars. Forgot how much I missed that.
… So. About last night.
I did tell Kate. Not so much about why I was leavin’ Raggdale: more the fact that I was leavin’ to find work elsewhere. An’ she... didn’t take it very well. I mean, she did her best to put on a brave face at first, but once she started cryin’, I jus’... Trin, I wanted to take it all back. But all I could do was jus’ dry her tears, an’ try an’ tell her that this weren’t goodbye for good, that I’d come back as soon as I was able.
“But are you going to stay?” Kate whispered, her voice breakin’. “If — if you have the option.”
I hesitated, my fingers slippin’ from her blotchy cheek. “I’d like to,” I said quietly. “I really would.”
Kate inhaled shakily. She looked like she wanted to say somethin’, desperately so, but I could tell she weren’t goin’ to say it. I’d hurt her too much already. “And I hope you do,” she finally choked out. “I really do.”
An’ in that moment, I jus’... I knew. I’d already known for a long time how I felt about Kate, but I could only ever guess at her feelings towards me. But there, with moonlight shinin’ on her tear-streaked face an’ shimmerin’ in those wide brown eyes, I knew what Kate wanted to say, to try an’ keep me here in Raggdale with her. An’ it was that she loved me.
Should I have told her first? Granted, I don’t know what good it would have done; I would have been leavin’ in the mornin’ anyway. An’ then I might have had to tell her why — an’ that’s about the only thing I could think of that would’ve made that whole conversation even more painful than it already was.
… Still. I can’t help feelin’ that I should have. Even if that had gone sour, too, at least I’d have one less regret weighin’ on me.
— THURS., AUG. 14, 1880 —
Made great time today — I’m settin’ up camp for the night on the other side of Penango. Early tomorrow mornin’, I’ll be at De La’Coen Drilling: hopefully before any other would-be applicants.
An’ from there? Trin only knows.