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If John was honest with himself, he still had big doubts about building this ranch. Something in him just didn’t want to let go of the thought that buying a barren plot of land that Abigail mentioned once, in the hope to turn it into a nice home, was absolutely stupid. And he hadn’t even touched upon the mountain of debt he was in because of it. Hell, he didn’t even like working on a ranch that much back at Pronghorn, would he really grow to like it when he finally got to call it his own?
He continuously ignored the small voice in his head that told him that simply leaving everything behind was still an option. Just saddle up your horse and leave, new place, new name, new possibilities. He’d done it once before and knew it worked. However, it had been a coward’s move back then and definitely would have been one now as well. Arthur had sacrificed so much in order for John to live a good, honest life, he wasn’t going to throw that chance away like that.
Plus, he missed Abigail and Jack so much. He missed waking up beside his wife, her making coffee first thing in the morning, exactly how he liked it and listening to her humming a tune while preparing for the day ahead. He even missed her cooking, as inedible as it sometimes turned out to be. In the end, while it may be his ranch, he did it for them. They deserved this life, and he was going to try everything to make them have it.
Meeting Uncle and later on Charles had been unexpected, but a pleasant surprise. He hadn’t expected them to stay, or at least not Charles, nevertheless, he was glad they did. Charles was truly helpful and John had the feeling that without him, he would still be at square one. And Uncle… was also there.
After a few days as a trio, an unspoken routine had established itself, not unlike how it did back in the days of the gang. They mostly woke up with the sun, or at least John and Charles did, preparing coffee and talking about their plans for the day, which were mostly filled with building the house. Sometimes Uncle would join from a distance, watching them silently while nursing a beer he got from god knows where, or shouting directions at them.
It was hard work and John had lost count of how many splinters and blisters he’d gotten a long time ago, but being able to see the progress they made at the end of every day and imagining his small family in the soon-to-be home was enough motivation for him to continue.
They ate dinner mostly in silence, either something out of a can or fresh game Charles had hunted whenever he still had the energy to do so. The silence didn’t stem from a place of awkwardness or wariness, but from the bone-deep tiredness, one felt after many days of hard manual labour and the quiet buzzing happiness of a job well done for the day.
This evening, John had picked up Arthur’s old journal again, adamant on giving writing in it another try. He still thought of it as Arthur’s, not his, and always felt slightly obtrusive for flipping through the pages, even if it just was to find the newest blank one. Of course, he’d read all the pages filled with his older brother’s neat looping handwriting before, some even several times. He’d stared at the delicate sketches, finally being able to settle his younger self’s curiosity since Arthur had always made a big fuss out of no one being allowed to look at his journal.
John understood that it helped Arthur process the world around him, taking some time to either write past events down to clear his thoughts or to draw the surrounding areas and anomalies he saw around them. His journal had been a safe place to store his memories in a life that didn’t allow safe spaces or much memorabilia.
However, even though John understood it didn’t mean he could do the same. He tried to write consistently in it, though his entries remained short and directly to the point. He even tried drawing in it, though being able to compare it immediately to Arthur’s skill made him feel embarrassed. He even felt bad for his handwriting, nowhere near as nice as the one of the former owner.
So John had simply opened the journal on his lap, quickly writing down what they got done today and what was due to do tomorrow, when he felt Charles’ gaze rest on him.
The man had been sitting on the opposite side of the fire, carving something out of a piece of wood and feeding the shavings straight into the flames. Knife still in a tight, secure grip, he had stopped and watched John. The only noises filling the night were the crackling campfire, the few animals scuttering in the distance and Uncle’s snoring.
“Is something the matter?”, John asked hesitantly.
“Mh? Oh no, I was just thinking.”, Charles shook his head, staring at the ground. He sucked in a breath, “I was just wondering if that was Arthur’s.” They both stared at the journal in John’s hands.
“Oh, yeah. He gave it to me when…when everything came to an end. Well, he gave me his satchel and it was in it. Don’t know if he thought of that or not, to be honest with you.”, he closed the book carefully, but kept it in his hands, rubbing the cover between his fingers, “The two of you were close, right?”
John was embarrassed to ask, he knew they were close even before he’d read the damn journal. Arthur wasn’t one to warm up to people quickly, a habit that came with their lifestyle, nevertheless Charles promptly became one of his best friends in the short amount of time he’d stayed with the gang. And while they were some teasing remarks by the other members about the relationship the two men had back then, it hadn’t escalated to much more, just quick jokes, nothing serious. Everyone had bigger worries than what Charles and Arthur had been up to when they left for hunting trips or a quick job.
So while John had known beforehand that they shared a strong bond and the thought of them having a more intimate relationship wasn’t a ludicrous idea, having it confirmed through several journal entries and quick sketches felt weird. Like a breach of privacy, a secret he hadn’t meant to uncover.
So, sitting now opposite what was essentially his dead brother’s lover, John couldn’t help but feel thankful for the dark night and dim light of the fire, hoping it helped cover up his embarrassingly flushed face.
Charles snorted, a sad smile on his face. “You could say that.”
“I know about the two of you.”, John blurted out without thinking, “I mean, he wrote about you, quite a lot actually. And I read it. Sorry.”
“No need to apologise. He wanted to tell you one day anyways, was actually quite anxious ‘bout how you’d react if he did. But y’know, things happened before he could try. And afterwards, everyone split up and, well, you know the whole story.”
“Yeah, I know”, John simply nodded. An awkward silence filled the air and John knew that Charles sure as hell wasn’t going to do anything against it. The man was made up of even fewer words than Arthur and stubborn at keeping them close to him. Thus John tried to fill it with more of his stumbling babbling. “Y’know, I always was sure that all those stories Arthur told us about the weird folks he met when he did whatever he did outside the camp were made up. That one day he’d turn to me and laugh at my face for believing the bullshit he told me, wouldn’t have been the first time he did that. But turns out, they’re real. Or at least real enough for him to write about it in his journal.”
Charles smiled and nodded along as John continued.
“I mean the animal wrangler with the false animals, those two weird brothers who wanted him to punch them, and so on. Makes you think about how normal we seem in comparison.” John sighed. “I never thought Arthur was stupid, but I guess I also never thought that he’d had so many thoughts. If that makes any sense. I mean, I lived through the same things as he did, as we all did, but, I never dwelled on them as much as Arthur. I just let them happen and leave them behind. I didn’t spend time writing about it.”
“He did always have lots on his mind.”, Charles began, “He never talked about it, but he always had this sense of responsibility for everyone at camp. His mind was rarely unoccupied and without worry. It doesn’t surprise me to see that he wrote them down. It makes me happy even, to see that he had a place to put it into words.”
“He never talked with you about such things?”, John asked.
“Had he ever done that with you?”, Charles immediately shot back.
Though neither of them replied to the questions, both knew the answer to be no.
“Aren’t you a bit curious about what he wrote about you? I never guessed he was such a sap.”, John tried to pick up the conversation again.
“I am, but I’m not gonna make you tell it to me and make you all embarrassed.”
“You can read it yourself then.”, despite the offer, John made no move to hand the journal over, still nervously playing around with it in his hands, “You can keep it if you wanna. I wrote a bit in it, but not much. You’ll notice the different handwriting right away anyways. His is prettier.”
“That’s very kind of you, but no thank you. I may pick you up on the offer to read it though.” Charles looked directly into John’s eyes as he said it.
“Why not?”
Charles stared into the fire for some time, chewing at the inside of his bottom lip before answering, as if gathering his thoughts and words wisely. “Well, first of all, I’m sure he gave it to you for a reason. He wanted you to have it, so he gave it to you. If not, he would’ve done something different. That’s the easy answer.”
“And the not easy answer?”
“I’m done grieving John.” A sigh. “Or at least I’m trying to be. It feels like for the last few years I wasn’t able to live, only to survive. I kept myself constantly busy, first helping with Rains Fall and the reservation, then doing odd jobs and the like until I ended up with boxing. Back at the reservation, I asked one of the elders to cut my hair, but even as it grew back I felt haunted by his death. I didn’t allow myself to be happy without him. There wasn’t a day where I didn’t grieve a future that never was, with a person long gone. Coming here with you, and helping you build this ranch finally made me realise what Arthur truly wanted.”
John felt like a dumb child as he asked “and what was that?”
“He wanted us to live a good honest life, away from all that trouble, especially for you. He fought so hard to give us all that chance. And I was so stuck up on his death that I completely ignored the outcomes of his battle.”
“Now, Charles, don’t be unnecessarily hard on yourself,” John interjected and Charles simply shrugged.
“So no, as much as I appreciate it, I’ll leave his journal with you, I trust you with it. I just need to move on finally, and I don’t think I can do that if I had it with me.” His admission carried a finality with it, which filled the space around them with silence. The thought of Charles having suffered for years while John overcame his grief within a shorter amount of time made him feel guilty.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk that much.”, John said teasingly, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
Charles chuckled at that. “Guess not, gotta return to my taciturn self soon, before Uncle wakes up.”
“Taciturn”, John said to himself, “You usin’ fancy words now? But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I’ll do anything to keep someone safe from Uncle’s ramblings, and that includes you, my friend.”
They shared a quiet laugh that ended in a yawn on John’s end. He could feel his foot beginning to fall asleep due to the weird way he was sitting and although his body had slowly become used to the strenuous work, it still begged for a good night’s worth of sleep every day.
He stretched out his leg, wiggling his toes to fight the numb feeling of ants walking across his foot. “I oughta hit the hay now. You going to sleep soon too? We can’t have you too tired tomorrow. God knows Uncle won’t help and I can’t lift those beams all by myself.”
“Can’t have him worsen his lumbago.”, Charles simply said, avoiding John’s question entirely. John didn’t mind.
As John stood up, yawning a final time, he made a show of putting the journal and his satchel on top of the little workbench they built, fighting the urge to look back and check if Charles had caught on to him and was able to follow his trail of thoughts.
Without turning back John walked to his bedroll and undressed until he was left in nothing more than his union suit. He tried his best to stay as still as possible, hopefully giving Charles enough sense of privacy that he needed to be comfortable in whatever he decided was the best thing to do after tonight’s conversation.
And if by tomorrow morning, the journal was missing from the workbench, then no one lost a word over it. Neither over the quiet sobs in the night, muffled by a hand pressed tight over a mouth, nor when the journal miraculously reappeared the following day.