If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
...
He gently extricated himself, and the movement woke Mary-Beth. She blinked up at him, smiled sleepily, and then, seeing the activity, sprang into action with a newfound energy. "Right! No time for lollygagging!" she said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before bustling off to join Tilly and Karen in packing the last of the ladies' personal effects.
Caleb smiled after her, then efficiently rolled and tied both bedrolls, securing them to Morgan's saddle. The next thirty minutes were a masterpiece of coordinated chaos. The final crates were loaded, the last coffee pot stowed.
This camp at Roanoke Valley, which had been their home for more several weeks or possibly a month, was now just a scar on the landscape, soon to be reclaimed by nature.
Then came the difficult part. Arthur and John emerged from Dutch's tent. Between them, they half carried, half dragged a sagging, blanket wrapped form.
Dutch was unconscious, a result of a carefully administered dose of chloral hydrate from the medical supplies the gang have, a mercy for him and a necessity for them.
They loaded him into the back of a covered wagon, the one that would also carry Swanson and his medicines. Straps were secured around the log he was still bound to, ensuring he wouldn't shift during the journey.
Kieran, looking determined, climbed into the driver's seat of that wagon, with Lenny riding shotgun, both young men understanding the gravity of their cargo.
With a final check of the horizon, Hosea gave a nod. "That's it! Let's move out!"
Caleb swung up onto Morgan. Arthur mounted his own horse. They took the lead, the point of the spear. Behind them, the wagons creaked into motion, Pearson's kitchen wagon, the supply wagon, the medicine wagon, the furnitures wagon, and the carriage wagon.
Charles and Sadie fell in at the rear, their eyes constantly scanning the trees, the perfect rearguard. The rest of the gang rode alongside, a protective, buzzing cloud of riders.
Caleb led them north, retracing the route he and Mary-Beth had taken weeks ago. They moved at a steady, ground-eating pace, avoiding the main roads where possible. The morning sun climbed, washing the Heartlands in golden light.
They passed through the dappled shadows of the Cumberland Forest, the air rich with the smell of pine and damp earth. At a three way intersection, Caleb turned the caravan south, the impressive, jagged bulk of Citadel Rock looming on their left.
As they turned west onto the main road, the outskirts of Valentine came into view to their right. They could see the distant hulk of the livestock auction yard, hear the faint whistle of a train at the station.
A collective tension gripped the riders, passing so close to civilization felt audacious. But there were no shouts, no pursuing lawmen. They were just another line of wagons on a busy road. The normalization of their existence, the simple act of traveling unmolested, was a thrilling novelty.
Finally, Caleb guided them off the main road, onto a well maintained track that wound through a stand of trees before opening up into a breathtaking vista.
A collective gasp, then a wave of murmurs and excited whispers swept through the caravan.
Before them lay the homestead. It wasn't a fortress or a mansion, but it was solid, real, and beautiful. The main house was a three story structure of honey colored timber and gray stone, with a wide porch wrapped around the front.
A sturdy barn, big enough for all their horses and more, stood off to the side. A series of corrals and paddocks, defined by strong post and rail fences, sprawled out behind it. A large garden plot, already tilled, waited for seeds.
A toolshed and a well with a wooden housing completed the picture. A split rail fence encircled the entire property, marking a clear, defensible boundary between their new world and the chaos outside.
The wagons rolled to a stop in the wide yard between the house and the barn. For a long moment, everyone just stared, dismounting slowly, as if afraid the vision might dissolve.
Hosea walked forward, his steps slow and reverent. He came to stand beside Caleb and Arthur, who had also dismounted. The old conman's eyes were shimmering. He placed a hand on Caleb's shoulder, his grip firm.
"This… this is beautiful, son," Hosea said, his voice thick with emotion. "You've done it. You chose good people to build this. You've built us a future."
Caleb shook his head, deflecting the praise with a gesture toward Arthur. "The location was a joint effort. Arthur and I scouted it together. He deserves as much credit for finding this spot as I do for hiring the carpenters."
Arthur, who had been gazing at the house with an unreadable expression, part awe, part disbelief, let out a soft chuckle.
He clapped a hand on Caleb's other shoulder. "Don't you go bein' modest on my account. I showed you a patch of empty land. You… you saw this."
He gestured at the buildings, the fences, the undeniable promise of it all. "You had the vision, and you had the means to make it real. Without you, we'd still be dreamin' in the dirt back at Roanoke Valley. This is your doing. You take the praise, and you damn well deserve it."
The moment was broken by an exuberant whoop from Sean, who grabbed Karen and spun her around. "We're home! We're really home!" That broke the dam.
The gang erupted into joyful activity. Pearson immediately headed for the kitchen, bellowing about inspecting the stove.
Susan Grimshaw began directing people with a newfound, almost giddy energy, "You, boys, get the heavy crates into the barn first! Ladies, let's see the inside! Claim your rooms before these louts track mud everywhere!"
As the gang surged forward to explore their new haven, Hosea, Arthur, and Caleb hung back, a silent council of three amidst the happy chaos.
"The cellar," Arthur said quietly, the word dropping like a stone between them. All eyes turned to the house. The sturdy, welcoming house now presented its first and most grim logistical challenge.
"Strong door?" Hosea asked, his voice all business now.
"Iron banded oak," Caleb confirmed. "A lock on the outside. A small, high window with bars, for light and air. It's dry, and there's a cot. It was built as a root cellar, but…"
"But it'll serve," Arthur finished, his jaw tight. The reality of what 'serving' meant was upon them. The joyous arrival was inextricably linked to the grim task of securing their greatest threat.
"Let's get him settled," Hosea said with weary resolve. "Then we let the others enjoy this day. They've earned it."
They moved to the prisoner wagon. With John and Charles's help, they carefully unloaded the still unconscious Dutch, log and all.
Carrying the heavy, awkward burden, they moved through the bustling yard, a somber procession that few noticed in their excitement.
They entered the cool, dim interior of the house which earned a gasp of delight from Mary-Beth and Tilly who were marveling at the spacious main room, and found the door to the cellar off the side where the kitchen is.
The stairs were narrow. It was a difficult, grim maneuver. Finally, they laid him, still bound to the log, on the simple cot. In the sliver of light from the barred window, Dutch's face looked pale and strangely peaceful, the madness hidden beneath unconsciousness.
For a moment, he was just the man they had followed for years, and the sight was a physical ache in Arthur's chest.
Charles produced a set of new, thick leather restraints. "These are better," he said simply. They swapped out the fraying ropes, securing Dutch's wrists and ankles to the iron frame of the cot itself.
The log was finally removed, rolled into a corner. The relief of its absence was immediate, but the sight of Dutch trussed to a bed in a locked cellar was, if possible, even more pathetic and horrifying.
Arthur stood looking down at him for a long moment. Then he turned and walked wordlessly up the stairs. The others followed.
Caleb pulled the heavy door shut with a solid, resonant thud. The sound echoed in the stone lined space. He turned the key in the robust lock, the click final and absolute. He handed the key to Hosea.
Hosea stared at the cold metal in his palm, the weight of it seemingly immense. He then passed it to Arthur. "You should keep it," he said.
Arthur flinched as if burned. "I don't want it."
"None of us do," Hosea said gently. "But it has to be one of us three. And you… you were the closest to a son."
Arthur's face was a mask of torment. After a heavy silence, he closed his fingers around the key and shoved it deep into his pocket, a new, terrible burden settled upon him.
They emerged from the cellar into the bright, noisy chaos of their new home. The contrast was dizzying. From the cellar's silent tomb to the vibrant life flooding the house, children laughing, people arguing good naturedly over rooms, the smell of coffee already brewing in Pearson's new kitchen.
Caleb stepped out onto the porch, breathing in the clean air. He saw Mary-Beth on the upper balcony, waving down at him with a radiant smile. He saw Jack running through the tall grass of the field, Cain the dog barking at his heels. He saw Javier tuning his guitar on a porch step, the first few hopeful notes drifting on the breeze.
The plan had worked. They were here. They were safe. The Pinkertons were broken, and a home was theirs.
Caleb stood on the porch a moment longer, letting the noise and motion of the homestead wash over him. It was a strange, grounding sensation, like standing in the eye of a storm that had finally burned itself out. Then, with a quiet resolve, he turned and stepped back inside the house.
The interior was alive with motion. Sunlight streamed through wide windows, catching dust motes in the air. Voices echoed up the stairwell as rooms were claimed, laughed over, argued for. Someone, probably Bill, had already managed to scuff mud onto a clean floorboard, earning a sharp reprimand from Miss Grimshaw.
Caleb made his way toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was already beginning to feel lived in.
Pearson stood near the wide wooden counter, sleeves rolled up, beard slightly singed from earlier experiments with the stove.
He was carefully arranging pots, pans, and utensils onto hooks and shelves, muttering to himself as he worked. The smell of fresh coffee filled the room, rich and grounding, curling through the air like a promise. A tin pot sat on the stove, gently bubbling, steam hissing softly.
Caleb leaned against the doorframe for a second, watching the man at work.
"Pearson," he called casually.
Pearson jumped slightly, then turned, relief breaking across his face when he saw who it was. "Ah! Caleb. You startled me there." He wiped his hands on a cloth. "What can I do for you?"
Caleb smiled faintly. "Looked like you might need a hand. Want some help organizing all this?"
Pearson's eyes flicked to the half unpacked crates, the crowded counter, the cupboards still bare. He let out a short laugh. "Would I ever. Yes, yes, I'd be more than happy to receive some assistance. This kitchen's twice the size of the last one, and I'll be damned if I let it turn into chaos before lunchtime."
Caleb stepped forward immediately, setting to work without waiting for instruction. He began lifting cookware, stacking plates, passing items to Pearson as if they'd done this together a hundred times before.
The work was mundane, calming. As he sorted through bundles of dried herbs, he broached the idea. "Been thinking, Pearson. How would you feel about cooking up a feast tonight? Something to really mark the occasion."
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 1)
- Leadership (Lvl 1)
Money: 3,415 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 250,392 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 65 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, & Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co.
Bank: -