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They walked away from the light and noise, out past the corral, to the edge of the property where the land dipped toward a small creek. The only sounds were the crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. Arthur stopped, took out the cellar key, and held it in his open palm, staring at it as if it were a poisonous insect.
"Hosea's right, you know," Arthur said, not looking up. "The man down there… he's a stranger. A dangerous, ragin' stranger wearin' Dutch's face. I keep tryin' to see the man who took me in, and all I see is the madness that's gonna destroy everything we just built."
He closed his fist around the key, his knuckles white. "That 'quiet end' you talked about… It ain't about what he deserves. It's about what they deserve." He nodded back toward the glowing windows of the house. "Abigail. Jack. Mary-Beth. Even Bill, the idiot. They deserve their chance."
He finally looked at Caleb, his eyes haunted but clear. "I won't ask how. I don't wanna know. But when it happens… it needs to look like the sickness finally took him. Not like we did. For their sake. So they can remember the good man, and mourn him, and move on."
He took Caleb's hand and pressed the cold, heavy key into it. "This belongs to you now. You're the keeper of this particular gate."
Caleb took the key, the metal warm from Arthur's grip. The transfer of responsibility was complete. "They'll be able to mourn him, Arthur. I promise you that."
Arthur exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that seemed to release a decade of tension. He clapped Caleb on the shoulder, a wordless communication of gratitude, trust, and shared, terrible burden.
Then he turned and walked back toward the light and the laughter, leaving Caleb alone in the dark with the key, and the final, quiet task that would make the light permanent.
Caleb watched Arthur's back as he walked away toward the glow of the house. Even from a distance he could see the difference.
The sadness was still there, no force on earth could erase that, but Arthur's shoulders were straighter, his steps firmer, as if handing over the key had also allowed him to set down a portion of the unbearable weight he had carried for years.
Caleb let out a slow breath.
Arthur's consent, spoken in that fractured, painful way, was one pillar secured. Now only Hosea remained. Once the old man reached the same conclusion, the path would be clear. Necessary. Final.
He turned the cellar key over in his fingers, feeling the grooves bite into his skin. The responsibility felt heavier than any revolver.
Make it look like sickness.
That was the condition. Not violence. Not a bullet. Something slow, something believable, something the gang could mourn without suspicion. A death that would let them remember the Dutch who once read poetry by the fire, not the raving prisoner in the cellar.
Caleb leaned against the fence and stared out toward the dark creek.
"Alright," he muttered to himself. "Then what sickness?"
Poison was the obvious answer. But what kind? Something that didn't kill immediately. Something that mimicked natural decline, fever, weakness, confusion worsening over days. And most importantly, something without a cure available in this time and place.
His mind, however, betrayed him.
He didn't have the skill for this. No Poison Crafting ability, no medical background. His Drug Resistance Skill was useless for creating anything, it only kept him safe.
And his Past Life Memory Skill? Equally unhelpful. He wasn't a chemist, a doctor, or some true crime enthusiast who memorized obscure toxins. The shows he'd watched only ever jumped straight from "mysterious powder" to "dramatic death," skipping all the inconvenient details in between.
He rubbed his temple in frustration.
"Arsenic… cyanide… belladonna…" he whispered, testing the words like foreign coins. All he knew were names and half-remembered effects. Nothing precise enough to entrust the future of the gang to.
The creek burbled softly, offering no answers.
"Damn it," he muttered softly.
Anything too crude would be discovered. Anything too fast would scream murder. The thought circled his mind like a stubborn crow, refusing to land anywhere useful. He was so lost in it that he didn't hear the footsteps at first.
A gentle tug at his sleeve pulled him back to the present.
Mary-Beth stood beside him, eyes soft with concern. "Caleb?" she said.
He turned, forced the tension off from his face and turned it into a gentle smile as he saw Mary-Beth's concerned face in the moonlight. He reached out, stroking her hair. "Hey. What are you doing out here, hm?"
She leaned into the touch before answering. "I was waiting for you to come back. I only saw Arthur walking back, and he looked… different. He told me you were still out here thinking." She studied him. "Why are you standing all alone in the dark? The party's not over yet."
Caleb chuckled, a soft sound. "Just mulling over what Arthur and I discussed. Heavy thoughts for a heavy topic."
Mary-Beth tilted her head. "Can I know what it was?"
He hesitated only a heartbeat. "Concerns Dutch. The usual mess. Nothin' you need to carry." His tone carefully neutral, employing a fraction of his Persuasion Skill to gently steer her away from curiosity.
Mary-Beth, sensitive as always, caught the finality in his tone. She nodded, accepting his word, and instead of pressing, she linked her arm through his. "Well, you can't solve it all tonight. Come on. Sean's trying to teach Jack a sea shanty, and it's the funniest thing you've ever heard. Let's enjoy our family while we're all together and happy."
She pulled him, and he let himself be pulled, the warmth of her arm banishing the key's chill. He allowed the problem of Dutch to be shelved, compartmentalized in a dark corner of his mind. For now.
The party did last for quite some time. The alcohol, saved for a special occasion, flowed more freely. Light drunkenness gave way to full inebriation for some, Uncle was holding court with a loudly slurred story about a buffalo, while Bill, red faced, was attempting to arm-wrestle an amused but reluctant Charles. The laughter was louder, looser, the relief so profound it was intoxicating in itself.
Eventually, as the moon climbed high, people began to drift. Caleb and Mary-Beth made their way up to the second floor. She had claimed a corner room with a window facing east, promising morning sun. It was bare except for their bedrolls laid side by side on the clean plank floor and a single candle on the windowsill, but to them, it was a palace suite.
As they settled in, Mary-Beth sighed with contentment, snuggling close. "Charles said tomorrow he, Kieran, John, and Javier are going to start cutting wood. They're going to build proper bed frames first, then some chairs and tables. We'll have real furniture soon!"
Caleb smiled, kissing her forehead. "That's good. I'll head into Valentine tomorrow with Lenny and Pearson. We need to stock up on everything after the feast. You stay here and help the others get settled, okay?"
"I will," she promised, yawning. "I want to start a proper garden. Maybe some flowers by the porch, and vegetables out back…"
Her words faded as sleep took her. Caleb held her, listening to her steady breathing, but his mind, in the quiet dark, drifted back to the locked door below. Poison. Slow. Symptomatic. Natural. The words revolved like a macabre mantra. He needed an expert. Or at least, information he could trust.
An idea, tentative and dangerous, began to form. Not in Valentine. Mr. Worths at general store will definitely find him the Hero of the town weird to be asking about specific, odd chemicals. But in a city… a big, anonymous city with a different kind of marketplace, like Saint Denis on the other hand.
But he then remembered Angelo Bronte, and knew if he goes back now, he needed to have information of Conreall, so maybe just not a good idea yet. Or perhaps… Rhodes. Smaller, but with its own dark underbelly and a certain disgraced doctor, if memory served.
He fell asleep with the ghost of a plan taking shape.
The next morning, he woke to sunlight painting a bright rectangle on the floor. Mary-Beth still slept, peaceful. He kissed her forehead once more and slipped out.
Downstairs, the homestead was already alive with a different energy, not celebratory, but industrious. The smell of coffee and frying salt pork filled the air. In the kitchen, Pearson was in full command of his new domain, stirring a huge pot of oatmeal with one hand and managing a skillet with the other.
"Mornin', Caleb!" Pearson boomed, his voice still hoarse from last night's singing. "Sleep well in your bedrolls?"
"Well enough," Caleb smiled, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Listen, after we eat, I think you, me, and Lenny should take a wagon into Valentine. The feast cleaned us out of more than just meat. We need flour, sugar, coffee, salt, lard… the works. Nails and tools too, if the boys are going to be building."
Pearson's eyes lit up with the zeal of a man with a blank canvas and a full budget. "A supply run! Excellent thinking! I'll make a list as long as my arm. We'll need a good sized wagon. Lenny's a good choice. He's sharp, won't get distracted." He paused, lowering his voice. "And… anything else? For… other concerns?"
Caleb understood the implication. Things for the cellar. "Just the usual supplies, Pearson," he said evenly, his Acting Skill effortlessly projecting calm normalcy. "We're setting up a household now. Let's think like homeowners, not campers."
Pearson nodded, somewhat abashed. "Right, right. Of course. Homeowners." He said the word as if trying it on for size, and a smile broke through again. "I like the sound of that!"
After a breakfast eaten quickly amidst the buzz of planning, Charles and Javier discussing lumber, Susan allocating chores, Jack chasing Cain through the house, Caleb, Pearson, and Lenny hitched a pair of workhorses to a sturdy farm wagon and set out for Valentine.
The ride was pleasant, the morning crisp and clear. Valentine was its usual bustling, muddy self. The trip was mundane and profoundly satisfying. They bought sacks of flour and sugar, tins of coffee, blocks of salt, sacks of seed potatoes and vegetable starts for the garden.
Pearson haggled fiercely over the price of a new cast iron griddle. Lenny helped load crates of nails, hammers, saws, and planer blades. They purchased bolts of cloth, sewing needles, and thread for the women, and a bag of hard candy that Pearson insisted was "essential for morale."
As they loaded the last crate, Caleb's eyes scanned the storefronts. The doctor's office of Doc Calloway was further down the street. An idea struck him.
"Lenny, can you and Pearson get the wagon ready? I need to check on one more thing for the house. Meet you by the stables in twenty minutes."
"Sure thing, Caleb," Lenny said, hefting a sack of feed.
Caleb made his way to the doctor's office. It was a small, cluttered room that smelled of carbolic acid and dust. Doc Calloway who stood behind his counter looked up from a journal he read.
"Ah Caleb, anything I can help you?"
"I hope so, Doctor," Caleb said, adopting a look of concerned man using his Acting Skill. "The family of the my madam have moved into a new homestead down south at Lemoyne.They need some help setting up a proper medicine cabinet. I was wondering what you'd recommend for a remote household. For fevers, aches, that kind of thing."
"And…" he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Her family have an… elder family member. His mind isn't what it was. Gets terribly agitated, violent sometimes. They've been using chloral hydrate to calm him when it gets bad, but I worry about the long term use. Are there other… sedatives? Something maybe herbal, slower acting? Something that might just help him sleep more peacefully, for good?"
...
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: -