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say-hwaet · 27 days ago

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If I Had to Do it All Again

Chapter 31: The End of Outlaws, Part II Next Chapter: Thirty-Two Summary: Eliza's life has almost come full circle. While familiar with waiting, this is far different than what she and her family could have imagined. Arthur has gone back to camp, and the uncertainty of what is to follow hangs in the balance. What will happen next? Warnings: Mature themes, flirting, some language Word Count: ~10,300 A/N: Thank you to the seven of you (and those on AO3) who participated in the survey! Looks like Alice will have a love interest in this fic. I will say that it will be very subtle, but the implications will be strong enough that you will be able to see where it is going. Just some cute fluff near the end! :)

“Mama, I’m gonna go groom Rooster, okay?” Isaac calls as he leaves the washroom. He pauses to wait for your reply, but he doesn’t hear you answer. “Ma?”

Still hearing no reply, he walks down the hall, passing the bedroom where Alice is finishing her task of packing. He doesn’t see you there, and continues on his way.

He slows his steps as he looks at the walls of the hallway, spotting the photographs you’ve taken and paintings that he and Alice have done. One of the first things you did was buy a camera. An expensive purchase, but you had come across an interesting man who was traveling in the same direction you were. He was a photographer, venturing out of his comfortable studio into the great outdoors. You and the children enjoyed visiting with him, and while brief, you got inspired.

Isaac has heard you mention the wish to have a dark room where you can develop the photos, instead of taking them to Blackwater’s photographer. He’s a little stingy, and always has something to say about your portraits. Whether it’s the composition, aperture, or lighting, but you don’t care. They’re yours. Isaac smiles. He hopes that you’ll consider taking them with you.

He reaches the end of the hallway as it opens into the dining room, and he spots you standing by the window. Your bag is packed, resting on the table, and your arms are folded. “Ma?” Isaac calls to you. “You okay?”

You turn to him, your eyes reflecting a tumult of emotions. "Yes, Isaac, I'm fine. Just... thinking, is all." Your voice trails off as you gaze back out the window, watching the dust swirls stirred by the wind.

Isaac approaches you, his youthful face marked with concern. "Are you worried about Dad?”

You don’t want your son to be concerned, and while you always worry about Arthur’s whereabouts, you have something different on your mind. Your thoughts are on Annabelle and the wedding you had hoped for. You knew it was all too good to be true. You’re tired of waiting, and now that Arthur has asked you to marry him, you don’t even have a preacher to do the job.

Maybe it was a good thing you hadn’t told the children yet. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them.

You shake your head. “I know he’s alright,” you answer.

Isaac nods, though his brow remains furrowed with the weight of a son's worry. He moves closer, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Did you hear me callin’ for you?" His words are earnest, sensitive to your distant demeanor these past few minutes. "I was just gonna groom Rooster, but I wanted to make sure you heard me first."

You manage a smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t hear you. But you go on and take care of Rooster." Your voice is soft and encouraging, despite the tumult inside you. "And thank you for checking in."

Isaac gives you a hesitant smile and nods once more before he hurries over to you to give you a hug. You feel him squeeze his arms around you, and you bend into his embrace, kissing the top of his head.

After letting him go, you watch him step away and put on his shoes. He then takes his hat and goes out the door, the sound of his boots echoing softly down the porch steps. Turning back to the window, you stare out at the horizon where the land meets the sky, keeping your eyes on the dirt road.

You hear the soft padding of feet come from behind you and a loud exhale. “I’m done, Mama.”

Turning around, you see Alice down the hall, hanging by one hand from the doorway as she leans out. You nod satisfactorily. “You need me to come check?”

Letting go of the doorframe, she steps into the hallway, shaking her head. “Don’t think so. I packed all the clothes I need.”

You study her for a moment, the casual expression in her eyes, the lift of her brow. “You didn’t happen to leave your dresses out, did you?”

She averts your gaze for a fraction of a second, looking to the left. You give her a knowing look. “Alice…”

“But I don’t wear ‘em! They’re frilly and—”

You cross your arms and follow her movements as she idles in the space of the doorway. “It isn’t wrong to dress like a lady sometimes, Alice. If we go to a funeral, a wedding, church, or a party, a dress is the most appropriate. Not your overalls.”

Alice groans loudly. Her posture worsens the longer you chide her. “But you said I can’t play in my dresses!”

“That’s because you get them dirty. You know how many times I’ve had to repair the hems and seams because of the tears?”

Alice raises her hands and shrugs her shoulders. “Exactly! Which is why I shouldn’t ever wear ‘em!”

You sigh, drooping your shoulders. “You don’t need to go romping around at a funeral or a wedding.”

She pouts, defiantly putting closed fists on her hips. “Well, ain’t nobody died and I’ve never been to a weddin’ in my whole life!”

Finally resigned, you decided to let the secret out. “Well, you were going to be in a wedding today, but it looks like that isn’t happening…!”

Alice pauses her slouching, leaning away from the doorframe, and looking at you with a more sober expression in her face. It’s uncanny, the way her brows lift, the way her eyes brighten when her curiosity is raised. She’s a spitting image of her father.

Your fiancé.

“I was?” she asks softly.

You nod your head, feeling the disappointment again. “Yeah, honey.”

“Whose weddin’?” After a moment, she cringes. “Mrs. Thorne?”

You let out a sharp laugh. “No! She’s already married.” Well, you actually aren’t sure of that. She could be a widow or divorced. “I think.” You shake your head. “But that doesn’t matter.” You go to your daughter and kneel in front of her, taking her gently by the arms. “Your daddy and I are going to get married.”

Her brow pinches as she blinks. “I thought you were.”

You shake your head. “No, honey. But by getting married, I will share his last name. It will be legal.”

“Legal?”

You hear the front door close behind you, and you look over your shoulder to see Isaac standing there. “Legal means on paper. It means officially permitted by law,” he states, as though that information comes naturally to a nine-year-old.

You nod, slightly stunned. “That’s right.” Then you remember the law book in his lap that night you tucked him in. “Marriage makes a union legal.”

When Isaac had come in, he had only caught the tail end of your conversation with his sister. So hearing you mention marriage makes him nearly chuckle. “Why you talkin’ about marriage for?” He then looks at his sister with a glint in his eye. “You wanna get married or somethin’?” he teases. “Didn’t think you had feelins for some boy.”

Alice feels her cheeks go hot, and she immediately begins scratching her palm. “I ain’t! I’m only six, dumb—!”

“Alice Elizabeth!” you scold, cutting her off before she finishes her sentence. “You ought to have your tongue washed with soap!”

Alice falls silent, the scowl still on her face, and she leans back into the wall, rubbing the inside of her palm in a self-soothing gesture.

You exhale softly. “You two never used to be like this. I know things have been difficult, but we need to all get along.” You reach for both of your babies, taking them by their hands and bringing them close. “I know the fight between your father and me didn’t help things. Sometimes even adults struggle with their feelings, and your daddy and I…well…we’ve struggled for a long time.” You study their faces, their cast-down expressions. “But…we spent a lot of time together…working through things. We know now that being apart is not okay. We love each other. Always have.” You squeeze their hands. “And we want to make it official by getting married.”

Isaac lifts his eyes from the floor to meet yours. “Really?”

You smile softly. “Yeah. Only it won’t be until we find our new home. We’re leaving as soon as your daddy gets back and the preacher is gone for the weekend. He won’t be back for another three days, Sunday evening.”

“But Mama…!” Isaac suddenly brightens up and he excitedly shakes your hand. “You don’t need to…!”

Before you can ask what he means, you hear a horse whinny outside. It isn’t Rooster or Farm Boy.

You know who it is.

And your children know, too, for they quickly let go of your hands and begin to make their way to the door. They bump into each other, almost fighting for the right to reach the door first.

But you’re faster, making it to the door and reaching the handle just as your children bump into you from behind. You ignore it, swinging the door open.

And you see Arthur just beyond the gate, tying Boadicea to one of the fence posts.

You exclaim excitedly, like a giddy schoolgirl, and you rush down the steps, not even bothering to put on shoes. Before Alice can head out the door, Isaac stops her, putting you before his own desire to embrace his father.

“Wait, sis…!” he whispers, his strong grip winning against her silent protests. “Just let ‘em be.”

Alice stops struggling long enough to see you leap over the gate and throw yourself into Arthur’s arms.

“Oof…!” He grunts, but it quickly morphs into a soft moan when you press your lips against his. You can’t control yourself, the anxiety of separation coming through your mouth as they collide and your hands as they grip frantically at his body. He arches backward, lifting you to where your feet almost dangle.

He has no idea where this is coming from, but even if he did, all thoughts turn to vapor, to mush, as his sensations solely focus on you and what you’re doing to him.

“Oh,” you moan softly against his mouth as you melt in his arms. “I missed you…”

As Arthur opens his eyes, the desire to look at you is too great, and he sees his children in the corner of his vision. He pauses before returning to your pleading lips and chuckles, more so at you who doesn’t seem to care or notice that you have an audience. Gently, lovingly, he loosens his hold on you, easing you back down to the ground. “I’ve only been gone a few hours,” he answers calmly.

A soft cry escapes you, and you quickly reach for his shirt collar, tugging on it as you shake your head. “Years,” you say sharply. “Felt like years.”

He can sense the emotions in your voice, a hidden ache beneath the amorous behavior. He begins to rub your back gently as you remain in his arms, a gentle up-and-down sweep. “It’s alright, darlin’.”

“I thought they…I thought—”

“I’m here, darlin’. Nothin’ bad happened.”

“Did you see Hosea and John? Did Dutch try to get you to stay?”

He chortles. “Which do you want me to answer first?”

But you’re not in the mood to be teased, and you tug hard at his collar again. “Arthur…”

“Okay, okay. No, I didn’t see Hosea, John, or Dutch. I got in and got out.”

“Was anyone there? Do you think they left?”

Arthur shrugs. “Don’t know. It was…strange. Like it was abandoned, but there was still signs of life.”

He steps away from you to make enough room to get into his pack on his shoulder, swinging it around and opening its flap. After a second of rummaging through it, he pulls out something you instantly recognize.

Your shawl.

He holds it out to you, the fabric flowing slightly with the breeze. "I’ve held onto it…since you left. Figured you'd want it back."

You take it from him, your fingers brushing against his as you do. The contact sends a shiver through you, reigniting that ache of missing him even though he stands right in front of you. The memory of him giving it to you is fresh in your mind. So long ago, and yet, it feels like yesterday.

You pull the shawl around your shoulders, its familiar weight comforting as you inhale deeply, the scent of campfire smoke and your perfume still clinging to the fabric. It's more than just a garment—it's a piece of your life, a symbolic gesture that no matter how far he roamed, a part of him always cared.

And now you know how deeply.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

His lips pull back into a shy smile, vulnerable and sweet. “Thought you might like to wear it when the preacher marries us.”

Your face falls, and your eyes lift away from the shawl as you tell him what you’ve learned from Annabelle. “The preacher has gone to a camp meeting. There won’t be a wedding.”

And Isaac, wanting to continue telling you what he was trying to say before he got interrupted, hurries down the porch steps. “You don’t have to, Mama!” Isaac's excitement is palpable as he nears you and Arthur, dragging his sister with him. "You are already considered married by law!"

Arthur frowns slightly, perplexed. "What’chu talkin’ about, son?"

"Common law,” Isaac insists, his eyes expressive and sparkling. “There is a law in some states that if two people live together and give presents as man and wife for a while, it’s considered common law marriage!”

You look at your son. “You mean present themselves as husband and wife?”

Isaac nods his head. “That’s what I said!”

Arthur finds it fascinating that his son would be keen on such information. “How would you know about this, son? You ain’t just makin’ it up?”

Isaac tilts his head, looking serious. "I read it in one of the law books Annabelle got me." He takes a step back and points toward the house. “I can get it back out from my stuff I packed! It’s there, promise!”

So that’s how he came across them. But why? Why is he so interested in law?

And as though reading your mind, Arthur shares in your curiosity. “Why would you be wantin’ to read them things?” He’s known too many people who appear to uphold the law but instead break it worse than those who profess to be criminals. “Them kinds of books don’t really help folk much.”

Isaac shakes his head, adamant that his father is wrong. “In the wrong hands, they ain’t worth much, but I’m gonna—!” He pauses, hesitant to say any more.

But Arthur is persistent. “Gonna what, partner?”

Isaac’s eyes shift between you and Arthur. He didn’t want anyone to know, lest his dreams fall through. He’s seen how people put faith in his father to carry burdens. Why would he be any different? If they knew what he wants to pursue, they would surely encourage it, maybe even expect too much of him.

But these are his parents. Even though your methods have been far different from the other parents he’s met, or those of his friends, he knows you both want what is best for him.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for your reaction.

“I’m gonna be a lawyer, Dad. I wanna help people who can’t fight for themselves. Like when Hosea taught me about fairness and defendin’ the weak.” Isaac's voice trembles slightly with determination. “I wanna fight the law, so you can walk a free man, Dad. I don’t want you runnin’ no more.”

Arthur stares at Isaac, the weight of his son’s words sinking deep. He gives you a shared look, and you feel the weight of it, too, but it is also intermixed with pride. Your son wants a better life for himself and for those around him. It has been your mission to train up your children well, and if your son has become as caring and thoughtful as he has, you must have done something right.

“That’s a mighty big dream,” Arthur admits, his voice rough and sobering. “But don’t do it for my sake, son. I’ve done things I ain’t proud of, and though I ain’t gonna live that way no more, that don’t mean you gotta worry about folks comin’ after me.”

Isaac nods slowly, absorbing his father's words with a maturity that seems beyond his years. "I know, Dad. But it ain't just about you. It's about doin' what's right. Makin' sure no one else has to fight like we done." His resolve is palpable, and he holds his sister’s hand tighter. “There are lots of bad people out there. And I wanna do somethin’ about it.”

Alice looks between her brother, you, and Arthur. This is all a lot for her to absorb and with what she does understand, she feels a tinge of worry. “But we will go somewhere safe, right?”

Arthur’s eyes soften as he kneels down to bring himself to Alice’s level, his rugged hands gently cupping her face. “Yes, little lady. We’re gonna find a place that’s safe and call it home.” His reassurance is firm, a promise in his tone that seems to soothe even the winds around you. His words seem to weave a protective spell over your little family, standing there under the vast expanse of the sky.

Alice nods, reassured by her father's promise, her fears momentarily assuaged. She looks up to you and Isaac for confirmation, finding it in your warm smiles and nodding heads. Content with that, she lets out a soft breath.

“So, If Isaac is right,” you begin to say. “about common law…”

Arthur meets your eyes and smiles softly. “You was my wife the whole time.” He then chuckles. “Well, at least in some states. That right, son?”

Isaac nods. “That’s right, Dad.”

But you can't help but feel a small, persistent ache in your chest, like a whisper of longing that refuses to fade. "I still want a ceremony," you confess, your voice tinged with a wistful longing. "I just...I never got one."

"So, it's more about sentiment and vows at this point?" Arthur asks, his voice gentle and understanding. "It don’t need to be someone who can do it all fancy like...?"

You look at him curiously, noticing the spark of an idea flickering in his eyes. He's clearly plotting something, a plan forming in the depths of his mind. "Arthur...what are you planning?" you inquire, your curiosity piqued and your heart fluttering with anticipation.

You then see the twinkle in his eye. “Darlin’, I think we oughta make a quick trip into town.”

***

The firm knock on Orville’s door makes him jump out of his chair. This is it. Dutch has found him, and he’s going to die. Just like Buck did, whoever he was.

He lifts his eyes to the ceiling, envisioning God on His heavenly throne. “So soon, Lord?” he prays. “I have yet to make amends with—”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

He jumps again. Why doesn’t Dutch just come barging in like always and take him out already?!

Maybe, perhaps, he’s also jumping to conclusions. Could it be room service? Complimentary hand towels? Or something?

A fist raps on the door again as he makes his way to it. He tries to steady his trembling, pulling out the Bible from his coat pocket. “C-c-coming…!” he calls out, almost instantly regretting it. Why give himself away before even reaching the door?

Orville opens the door slowly, the heavy wood creaking as it swings inward. His heart hammers in his chest, a frantic rhythm against his ribs. To his immense relief and surprise, it's not Dutch Van der Linde standing before him but Arthur Morgan.

“Gah—!” Orville gasps, relieved. “Mister Morgan…!”

Arthur puts a finger to his lips, shushing the reverend while simultaneously inviting himself in. “I need a word wit’chu.”

The reverend, not wanting to make a scene, steps back into the room while Arthur closes the door. “What’s goin’ on? Do you want a ticket to the ferry boat, too?”

Arthur quickly shakes his head. “No.” He continues to keep his voice down, despite being in a private room. “I need a favor.”

Orville knew he’d be indebted to him, but never thought he would get the chance to actually pay him back. He straightens his coat, trying to regain some composure as he looks at Arthur, a mix of anxiety and intrigue on his face. “What sort of favor?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow slightly, the seriousness in them unmistakable. “I need you to officiate a weddin’.”

The request catches him off guard. He wasn’t blind a few months ago. He saw the agony that Arthur went through when you and the children disappeared. So, why would he be asking about weddings? This has to be for someone else, right? He wouldn’t so quickly move on and find another.

Reverend tries to conceal his disdain, but the curiosity is too much. "Yours?" he ventures cautiously, his voice tinged with a mix of hope and skepticism.

Arthur chuckles softly, a deep, mirthful sound that fills the room. "Yes, mine. But don’t’chu be lookin’ at me like that.”

Reverend Swanson stammers, flabbergasted. “But I’m not a licensed minister…at least not any more.”

Arthur waves him off, clearly not bothered by his credentials. “It don’t matter, I just need you to marry us. We're leavin’ for the train station tonight and—”

“To whom?!” Orville demands, perhaps a little too harshly. “Who could you possibly—?”

Arthur cuts him off. “You owe me, reverend. Just tell me yes or no.”

Orville’s eyes widen, a struggle evident in the way his brow furrows and his lips part slightly as if to speak, but no words come out initially. Finally, he nods slowly, acquiescence mixed with surprise. "Alright...yes. I will do it. But you must tell me—"

But Arthur is already turning to leave. “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Arthur strides back out into the fading light, leaving Orville in a state of bewilderment and anticipation. The reverend's hands tremble slightly as he adjusts his collar, his mind racing with the possibilities of what could be unfolding.

Who is Arthur bringing up to his room? Some girl from the saloon? A helpless widow, perhaps?

Arthur's quick steps echo down the hallway, his mind set on the task. As he navigates through the dimly lit corridor of the inn, his thoughts swirl around you and the children, about the life he wants to secure with you, no longer plagued by shadows and whispers of his past.

He bursts through the door, turning to find you and the wedding party waiting in the wagon. You’re wearing a borrowed dress and the beautiful shawl draped over your shoulders.

It seems like an eternity since you've last slipped into a dress. The ones you packed for the trip, as Annabelle pointed out with a discerning eye, simply wouldn't suffice. She insisted you borrow one from her own collection. Initially, you hesitated, picturing the less-than-conservative outfits she typically dons for her job. Yet, she took you by surprise with the dress you currently have on. It's a delicate piece, with a gentle flow and a fabric that feels like a whisper against your skin.

It is off-white, with a subtle pink flower pattern. The sleeves, puffed but tightly cuffed starting at the elbow down to the wrist, are accentuated with pink buttons. Annabelle insisted you wear a corset and bustle to help shape the dress, and with the matching hat and your shawl, it all makes you feel as prim as a china aster. But you aren’t the only one slightly miffed. Alice isn’t too happy about wearing a dress, either.

Arthur finds your gaze, and the excitement builds inside him, and he can’t conceal his smile. “Alright, folks. Get out of the wagon.”

Your brow pinches. “Arthur, what’s going on?”

He meets your side, holding out his arms to you. “Just trust me, darlin’. C’mon. We ain’t got much time.”

You step down from the wagon, smoothing out the fabric of your dress as Arthur eagerly guides you, Alice, and Isaac toward the hotel. The air is crisp, the sun just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows that dance playfully around your feet.

Alice tugs at her dress uncomfortably, her face scrunched, and her hair in a blue ribbon. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t wanna be in this dress much longer.”

Annabelle chuckles to herself. “Alice…”

Arthur reaches the door to the hotel’s main entrance, pulling it back. “Just right up the stairs…”

You follow Arthur, each step echoing in the quiet lobby. The hotel manager nods respectfully as Arthur leads you up the creaky wooden stairs, his hand firmly on your lower back. The staircase is narrow, and the scent of aged wood fills the air. You can hear Isaac and Alice whispering behind you, their curiosity barely contained as they try to make sense of the situation. Annabelle holds onto each of their hands, guiding them along as she shares in their excitement.

At the top of the stairs, Arthur turns down a small hallway, eventually pausing in front of a door, turning to give you a reassuring smile. His eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint that you've come to know and love. He knocks gently before pushing the door open, revealing a modestly decorated room with the remaining daylight seeping through the lace curtains.

And Reverend Swanson, standing by the small writing desk.

You didn’t know what to expect, but it had never entered your mind that you’d be seeing a familiar face. “Reverend…?!”

He jumps in his shoes, his eyes falling on you and your entourage. So many faces. All of you, people he never thought he’d see again.

“What—? Annabelle, Miss Bloom, you—?”

Arthur chuckles as he closes the door behind him. “Weren’t expectin’ this, was you, Swanson?”

The reverend shakes his head, eyes wide as saucers. “No, Mister Morgan, I sure wasn’t.”

You place a hand on Arthur’s chest and wait for him to turn and meet your eyes. “I thought you said you didn’t see anyone. How did you know he was here?”

Arthur grins, leaning close to you. “I said I didn’t see John, Dutch, or Hosea…” Then he plants a kiss on your mouth. “I helped the reverend get out. He’s got a ticket on the next ferry comin’ in.”

He'd better stop doing that. Kissing you seems to put you in a temporary daze, with an instant warmth flooding your cheeks and stomach.

The reverend clears his throat. “I’m guessing you want to do it here?”

Arthur slips a hand around your waist, feeling the firm whale bone of your corset beneath the fabric of your dress. “We do.” Then he looks down at you again. “Unless that don’t abide by you, darlin’?”

Do you think you ought to complain at this point? Perhaps not. A church wedding is for new hopefuls and those unaffected by the life you’ve lived. Maybe a redeemed preacher, a small band of witnesses, and a quiet room are all that you could have ever hoped for.

You look into the eyes of your children, hopefully waiting for your answer.

You look back into Arthur’s eyes and feel the love and adoration sweeping over you. A great love in the most humble of places. “It abides just fine, Arthur.”

Annabelle claps once. “Alright, then! Let’s get this wedding goin’!” Without waiting for any prompting, she reaches for your children, leading them to the side as Arthur nudges you into position. You both stand before the reverend, and he takes a moment to smooth his hair and clear his throat.

“It’s been so long since I…” He clears his throat again, biding time to give his memory a moment to remember the words.

You feel awkward standing there with nothing in your hands, fidgeting enough to catch Annabelle’s attention. She takes a quick glance around, spotting a vase with fresh-cut California Poppies on a small table. Leaving the children for a moment, she jaunts over to the vase and pulls out the flowers with a flourish. And without missing a beat, she comes over to you and slips the bouquet into your hands, making your fingers interlock around it. “There,” she exhales softly and beams. “Now you really look like a bride.”

You don’t say anything, as you’re unsure what to say. You feel your cheeks grow warm, that bashfulness overriding your thoughts. You simply nod gratefully at Annabelle, feeling the weight of the moment settling upon you.

Reverend Swanson finally collects himself, his voice steady and solemn as he begins. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Marriage is a sacred and joyous covenant, which should be entered into with reverence. Husband and wife should give to each other companionship, comfort, and support in times of prosperity as well as in times of adversity—”

“Reverend,” Arthur interrupts. “What you’re sayin’ is pretty and all, but I think I wanna say somethin’.”

Reverend Swanson blinks, unaccustomed to being interrupted during a ceremony, at least in this fashion. He nods, gesturing with a turn of his hand to give Arthur the floor.

Arthur takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. He seems to gather every bit of his courage as he begins to speak, his voice carrying a raw, emotional weight. "Eliza," he starts, and the way he says your name brings an entire rush of emotions crashing inside you like waves. You see the effort it takes for him to speak without breaking, the thick swallows to keep his voice calm. “I know the reverend’s words will always be better than mine, but it don’t feel right to have somethin’ that has been said over other folks said over us. We ain’t like them other couples.”

You shake your head. “No, we sure aren’t.”

He chuckles, relieved that you agree. “Well, I just want you to know that…that I love you. And I know that a lifetime of sayin’ it will never be enough. You fill spaces in my soul that no one else could ever touch. When you’re not with me, it’s like I’ve lost a limb or an organ. I’ve traveled all over, but nothin’ compares to standin’ next to you.” He pauses, his lip trembling, and he struggles to remain composed. He has never been a crying man, never been one to let the emotions deep within him to ever reach the surface. He feels more vulnerable now than a barrel of a gun against his head. “I don’t wanna ever lose that.” He squeezes your free hand, feeling its softness and small fingers. “I promise to never walk away again. I promise to protect you and our children. I promise to always work at bein’ the man you’ve always needed me to be. I wanna be a good man, all because of you. All because I walked into that restaurant that day.”

Tears well up in your eyes as Arthur's words wash over you, each one more heartfelt than the last. You've never seen him so open, so utterly surrendered to his emotions, and it moves you. You sniff loudly, blinking at the unshed tears, causing them to trickle down your cheeks.

“Not even death will keep you from me,” he whispers. “I love you.”

Unable to speak, you mouth the words, “I love you,” back, squeezing his hand.

“Well,” says the reverend, clearing his throat again. “Since Arthur has shared his own thoughts, Eliza, do you have something you’d like to share with Arthur?”

How can you begin? You hadn’t thought to share words of this magnitude. You didn’t even think that Reverend Swanson would be performing the ceremony. So many unexpected things in the matter of a day. You were living with Annabelle and the children, living life as mundane as you could have made it, but now things have changed so quickly. You are reunited with Arthur again, you’re engaged, and now this.

Arthur, despite his self deprecation, had put it all so beautifully. You are hardly a writer, how can you convey your thoughts in only a few short sentences?

You take a deep breath and exhale slowly. You mustn’t cry! You can manage this.

“Arthur…” you begin. “Words could never be enough. But despite it, I will try. I will try for the remainder of my days to tell you how much you mean to me. I have held onto the moments we’ve had together, as they have kept me going even when we were worlds apart. And it really was. The way you had lived was so different than what I had found to be normal. But while most would rejoice in the change of pace, I can only be grateful for what you have taught me. What you’ve shown me. You’ve protected me. You’ve given me two beautiful children. You've cared for me, but what matters the most is your love, as that encompasses everything else.”

You look down at the flowers in your hand, trying to avoid his eyes long enough to regain composure. After blinking quickly a couple of times, you look back up at him and see the glossiness over his blue irises. “As your wife, I promise to support you, to respect you, and remain by your side. Wherever you go, I will go, and should death separate us, I will always wait for you.” You swallow thickly, trying to suppress a sob. “There has never been anyone else.”

Arthur’s eyes hold yours with an intensity that makes your heart beat faster, his hand squeezing yours in a silent affirmation of the vows you've just spoken. Reverend Swanson, witnessing the profound exchange between you both, clears his throat, bringing the room back to the moment at hand.

“Normally, this would be where you exchange rings,” he states softly. “But since it’s understandable that you—”

But Arthur quickly speaks up. “I got one.”

You look at him curiously, watching him reach into his vest pocket and pull out a small diamond ring, held carefully between his index finger and thumb. He meets your eyes, and his lips pull back into a soft smile. “Been holdin’ onto this…hopin’…”

“But I…I don’t have a ring for you…”

Arthur lifts your hand in his, encouraging you to lift your ring finger as he lets the gold band slip over it. “That’s alright, darlin’,” he says lovingly. “My ugly hands ain’t deservin’ of such things.”

You click your tongue at his statement, knowing full well that his hands are strong, mighty, and skilled in pleasure as much as they are in hardship. They are hands that have shaped your world, held your children, and fought for what's his. You smile through your tears, touched deeply by his simple, yet profound acceptance of all that has transpired between you.

Reverend Swanson resumes the ceremony with a gentle nod. "Well, if there are no objections," he chuckles, already knowing that is far from a possibility. “I pronounce you man and wife.” He pauses a moment, meeting Arthur’s eyes. “Well, you may kiss the bride," he adds, a broad smile crossing his face as he steps back to give you and Arthur room.

Arthur doesn't hesitate. He leans in, his kiss gentle yet full of passion, a public declaration of his love and commitment. The room is silent except for the soft rustling of fabric and the sharp inhale Alice makes, still squeamish at public displays of affection.

You break away slowly, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. The world around you seems to slip away, just for a moment, and it seems like there’s only the two of you.

For a moment, you nearly forget the importance of rushing and catching a train, the one that will carry all your possessions and dreams to a new chapter. The bustling urgency fades away, and you allow yourself to sink into a sweet illusion, imagining that the pressures of life have lifted, that you're just a pair of young lovers on the brink of matrimony, ready to embark on a shared journey. It's as if you've been transported back to when you were nineteen, full of youthful hope and endless possibilities.

"Next is our honeymoon," you murmur, a playful glint in your eyes, as Arthur draws you closer into his warm embrace.

"Darlin'," Arthur replies in a voice as soft and deep as a lullaby, wrapping his arm securely around you. "That was last night." His lips meet yours in another tender kiss, gentle and lingering, sealing the moment with a promise of more to come.

Swanson coughs, taken aback by Arthur's unexpected boldness, his eyes widening slightly in disbelief. Annabelle, on the other hand, erupts into laughter, her amusement filling the room with a warm, infectious energy. “Well, I guess I really ain’t gotta wonder!”

Isaac, blissfully unaware of the underlying meaning behind their father's words, looks at Annabelle with confusion. “Huh?”

And Alice, in her juvenile way, sticks out her tongue in a display of bashful disgust. “Why you gotta kiss so much?” Alice whines. “It’s…yucky!”

Isaac rolls his eyes in playful exasperation at her antics. He has, after all, witnessed affectionate displays between his parents, even if the last time felt like a distant memory. But observing it now, a gentle warmth spreads within him, soothing the restless unease that had lingered about whether everything would work out. The anxious whisper in his mind, which had been so persistent, suddenly fades into a quiet hum, allowing a sense of calm to take its place. “Don’t worry about it,” Isaac answers her. “That’s what people do when they love each other.”

Alice groans. “I know that, I ain’t dumb.” She reaches for the ribbon in her hair, eager to rip it out. “Are we done now?”

Annabelle lightly swats at the six-year-old’s hands, wordlessly chiding her. “Yes, but you ain’t about to board a train lookin’ like a heathen.”

Alice slips away from her, giggling mischievously. “I ain’t gonna look like a Miss Priss, neither!”

You had originally protested taking a train. You thought to go by coach and make multiple stops. It’s more affordable that way, and it would give you more of a chance to see your options in terms of a new home.

But time is a valuable resource. You already know that you are going west, and the quicker you get there, the quicker you settle and have a home established before winter. You know it is only spring, but you know too well that hardly anything ever goes according to plan.

You reach and comb your fingers through Alice’s hair, untangling some of the curls. “Just as long as you behave on this trip,” you sigh. “I don’t care what you look like.”

Alice grins and doesn’t wait another second to pull the ribbon out of her hair, shaking her head to let the curls fall. You give it a second or two before combing through her hair again, taking the effort to make it look less disheveled.

Arthur shakes his head, amused at his daughter’s antics and your inability to resist trying to tame her. He turns away from his family to shake the reverend’s hand. “Thanks, Swanson.”

Orville takes the rugged man’s hand, letting it be shaken firmly. “No, thank you. It feels…rewarding to be able to do this. To see something as wholesome is this…” He looks over to you and the children, your conversation like birdsong. “It is a lesson I soon won’t forget.”

Arthur nods, though unsure of exactly what he implies, he knows the lessons that he has learned he will remember for the rest of his life. He pats Reverend’s hand before letting it go. “I hope you have a safe trip, when you go.”

“I will. And you all…? You’re leavin’ soon?”

“Yeah,” Arthur confirms. “We leave as soon as we’re done here.” He looks toward the window, regarding the time of day. “And it looks like that time is now.”

The reverend nods politely. “Then farewell, Arthur.”

The atmosphere that regularly accompanies goodbyes begins to fill the room, and it subtly settles all conversation once Arthur makes his way over to you, his wife, and places his palm gently against your back.

Your breath catches, but subtle enough to naturally stop talking and turn to him. “Yes?”

He leans in close, his lips barely touching your ear. “It’s time, darlin’.”

You suppose it is. You nod in agreement and begin to say your farewell to the reverend, turning to step away from Annabelle and your children. “Goodbye,” you say softly, reaching to shake his hand.

When he takes it, he places his other hand atop yours. “Goodbye, Missus Morgan,” he says solemnly. “I’m glad that our paths crossed one last time.”

“If not again in this life…perhaps in the next?”

His eyes gleam with a hopefulness and he pats your hand. “Yes, God willin’.” He lets you go and takes another step back. “I best not keep you.”

You return to Arthur, and you all slowly make your way to the door. His hand not leaving you, Arthur escorts you out first, Annabelle leading your children as they follow close behind.

The hotel room closes with a soft finality, and it is then that you know that as one door closes…

Another one opens.

***

Arthur likes it when you hold onto him, your arms linked with his left as he drives the wagon cart. It’s taken his thoughts away from how tired Farm Boy has become, pushing through the shallow water of the Dakota river, winding up the hill towards the train station. He knows you won’t be able to deny it, the old Suffolk Punch wouldn’t make the journey.

It’s time he retired, and a quiet life at Annabelle’s will do him nicely.

Isaac rides Rooster close behind, towing a willing Sandstone.

Before heading into town, Arthur took a moment to present the mustang mare to his daughter. She was beside herself and wanted nothing more than to ride her every second. On the condition that she take it slow, he’s allowed her to ride Sandstone on this short journey, being led by her brother. Boadicea, tethered by a small lead to the wagon, trots calmly behind.

As the wagon rolls over the rocky path leading to the station, the sun begins to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of fiery orange and deep purple. The cool evening air is a welcome relief from the heat of the day, and it carries with it the scent of sage and dry earth.

Arthur keeps a steady grip on the reins as Farm Boy pulls the wagon up the hill, the station just in sight. Your breath hitches, the inevitable goodbye now closer than you had ever imagined. You’re afraid of this part. You don’t want to say goodbye to Annabelle, to this part of your life that has been the easiest it ever has.

Reaching the top of the hill, Arthur navigates off the road to pull up beside the platform of the station, stopping the wagon at a safe distance away from the tracks. Farm Boy tosses his mane, lowering his head to nibble on the grass at his hooves, snorting softly.

“We best get our tickets. You want comfort or the cheapest?”

You pat his arm. “Whatever you think is best. I just want whatever gets us further west.”

He leans in to kiss your cheek, still at a deficit for your touch. “If that’s what’chu want.” Leaning away, he gets out of the wagon cart, being sure to pass by his son and daughter as they ride up. “Stay wit'chure mama, you hear?”

Isaac nods. “Sure thing, Dad.”

Once his feet plant on the ground, Arthur makes his way over to the ticket office, first stepping up onto the platform. You sit and wait in the wagon cart, readjusting the shawl over your shoulders.

“It will be fine, Eliza.”

You turn around and see Annabelle as she sits in the back of the wagon, a calm smile on her face. “I wish I was as certain as you.”

Annabelle shakes her head. “I’m not. But what is the point in worryin’ when most of the things that happen are completely outta your control?” She carefully rises to stand in the back of the cart and hops over its side with the grace of a leopard. “Just take it one day at a time. You’re already halfway there.”

You let out a puff of air from your lips. “Right.” And after a moment longer, you motion to hop off the wagon yourself and walk over to your children as they remain mounted on their horses.

“Do we have to ride a train?” Alice asks, taking a moment to pat her mare’s neck. “I’d rather ride Sandy the whole way there.”

Isaac turns at his waist to look back at his sister. “That ain’t fair to the horse, sis. She’s gotta rest, too. She’ll be riding the train with us!”

The young girl’s eyes brighten. “She’ll be on the train with us?”

“Not exactly,” you explain. “There’s a separate train car for animals.”

Alice folds her arms, determination crossing her brow. “Then I’ll be riding with her. Not with all the other folks.”

You shake your head. “You’ll be riding with us, and there will be no argument.”

Alice’s face scrunches up, a sign of brewing discontent. "But Mama—"

"No buts," you cut her off with gentle firmness. Your role as a mother includes ensuring her safety, even if it means denying her whims. "You're staying with us during the ride. It’s safer that way."

Alice looks around, hoping her father will show up and intercede on her behalf. Isaac chuckles. “Dad ain’t gonna side with you.”

She pouts, arms still crossed. “Daddy loves horses! He’d stay with Boadicea if he wanted.”

“Exactly. He don’t wanna. He wants to be with Mama instead.”

“That’s right.” Arthur’s voice behind you causes you to whip around, and you see him hop down from the platform. “I took care of everythin’. The train will take us as far as Deseret.”

That’s close to Utah Territory. Your heart leaps at the thought of being so far west, and you hope to travel even further. “Over how many days?”

Arthur shrugs. “A couple weeks, I reckon. They’ll make a couple of stops, which will be good for the horses.” He pats his satchel. “Got all our tickets right here.” He then looks at Annabelle. “I think we should say our goodbyes now so I can get the horses and luggage loaded.”

You nod. You know it is time.

Annabelle steps forward, her face a mélange of emotions—joy for your new beginnings and sorrow at the departure. She wraps you in a tight hug, her strength surprising. "You keep safe now, Eliza. And take care of these lil' ones."

Her words, cementing the farewell, make you ache inside, and you let the tears fall. “I will,” you sniff, squeezing her tightly.

“Write to me when you’ve settled, okay?”

“I will. I promise. I’ll even send you a picture.”

“That would be wonderful. I’ll hang in the hallway.” She pulls back, and the shine in her eyes catches the setting sun. “I gotta say goodbye to everyone else now.”

You nod and take a step back.

Annabelle goes to the children. Stepping beside Sandstone first, she offers her hands up to Alice to help her down. “Come, let me give you a proper goodbye.”

Alice’s previous determination softens, unable to ignore the meaning of the moment. She leans over, placing her hands on Annabelle’s shoulders and is lowered gently to the ground. She immediately wraps her arms around Annabelle, clutching at her skirts.

“You were such a little thing when I left,” Annabelle whispers into Alice’s hair as she bends over her. “I’m so glad you’ll remember me well, now.”

“I won’t ever forget’chu,” Alice whimpers. “Aunt Annie.”

Annabelle kisses the top of her head. “You listen to your daddy and mama. Don’t ever quit being strong and brave.”

“I won’t.”

Annabelle releases her from her embrace and gives her one more smile before going to Isaac, who has already dismounted Rooster. “Your turn.”

Isaac nods. “Yeah, I know.”

“I know you don’t do well with goodbyes.”

She knows him well. The poor boy has endured one goodbye too many over the past nine years of his life. He shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”

Without saying anything more, she pulls him into a tight hug. “I’ll make it quick then.”

He buries his face into her shoulder, wrapping his arms as tightly around her as he can. “Goodbye, Aunt Annabelle.”

She pats his back, her voice soft but firm. "You're gonna do great things, Isaac. Remember that."

Isaac pulls away, nodding solemnly. "I'll try."

Annabelle gives him a reassuring smile and then turns to Arthur. She holds out her hand, which Arthur shakes firmly. "Take care of my family, Arthur. I’m not lettin’ them go to just anyone.”

Arthur chuckles softly. “I know, Annabelle.”

“They’re what matters. Remember that.”

“I will.”

She squeezes his hand. “I know you will. I think you really mean it this time.”

“I do.”

As Annabelle leaves her parting words, you walk over to Farm Boy. You feel a swell of emotions rising in you again, and you gently take hold of his halter. You slowly rest your forehead against his forelock, and you close your eyes. “We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”

You can hear his calm inhale and exhale. His warm breath brushes against your cheek, a familiar comfort that almost brings you to tears. "You're going to a good place," you whisper, letting your hand stroke his coarse mane. "Annabelle will look after you, just like she looked after us." You take a moment to calm yourself, allowing you to say the final words. “Thank you. For everything.” You step back, allowing yourself a final look at the old horse, his gentle brown eyes looking into your soul. “Goodbye, Farm Boy.”

And that is left of the goodbyes. You return to your husband, who offers his hand as he helps you onto the platform. Once your children are standing next to you and your luggage, you notice Annabelle is already sitting on the wagon cart, taking the reins.

“Happy trails to you!” Annabelle calls out, raising a hand.

You all wave to her and watch her guide Farm Boy away from the train station, onto the dirt road, and watch her until she disappears down the hill.

You all stand there a moment longer before you feel Arthur’s hand on your back. “I’ll get the trunk and horses to where they should be. You go and find us a seat on the train.”

Nodding, you gather Isaac and Alice close, herding them towards the train. It seems that you had been tuning out the many sounds and business of the station, as it appears the train had only just stopped moments before your arrival. The platform bustles with departing travelers and porters, the air filled with the sounds of hissing steam and clanking metal. The setting sun casts long shadows over the station, lending a golden hue to the busy scene.

“Stay close,” you tell your children, taking Alice’s hand in one and your carpet bag in the other. Isaac picks up his pack and swings it over his shoulder, looking back at Rooster before following close behind.

You navigate carefully around the other travelers, making sure to not bump into anyone that is getting off the train.

“Can we get a seat with a window?” Alice asks. “I wanna be able to see things go by.”

You take a second to look at her as you answer. “I think we can manage tha—” Your answer is cut off when you accidentally bump into someone. “Oh!”

You pull backward, stammering an apology. “I’m so sorry…!”

The person you bumped into, a beautiful woman with dark hair, holds out a palm and shakes her head, eyes wide. “No, it was my fault! I was standing in your way and was distracted!” She wears a blue-gray matching skirt and jacket, her hair combed in a neat plait down her back. She wears a simple straw hat, but the pearl earrings in her ears indicate wealth and good standing. You notice a small mole on her left cheek, the single blemish on her skin.

She quickly looks away from you, her brow pinched and eyes searching.

“Are you lost?” you dare to ask, always curious and eager to help a stranger.

She looks back at you again, almost as though she’s surprised you’re still standing here. “Oh! No, I’m not lost. My brother got off the train before me, and I lost track of him.”

You can’t help but empathize with her anxiety. You couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if you lost sight of your children in a place like this. “Oh. Do you need help?” you ask, and you think to suggest another option as you begin to look for Arthur. “My husband is pretty good at finding people—”

“No,” she answers quickly, and she gestures to the luggage in your hand. “You’ve got a train to catch.” And then she eyes your children, making a double-take at Alice. “And you have your hands full. But it’s kind of you to offer to help a stranger.”

You smile. “What would be left of the human race if we didn’t help one another? Looks like you need to keep a better eye on your brother, though. He’ll run you ragged.”

She exhales slowly. It seems you’ve nailed it on the head. “Yes, but I love him, anyway. Despite his proclivity to run from his problems.” She looks up and around the station again. “I had hoped coming here would do him some good, but…” She shakes her head. “I just hope he doesn’t get himself into trouble.”

You look at this woman, feeling pity for her. It is strange that a stranger would be so open with you, but then again, you've always had a way of making people feel at ease. Perhaps it's your maternal nature or just the plain sincerity in your gaze that makes others open up.

"I'm sure he'll turn up," you reassure her, trying to offer some comfort despite knowing nothing of her brother or their circumstances. "Sometimes, folks just need a different perspective. The world can be a cruel, unforgiving place, and sometimes the worst of it can come from those we love most.” You watch as her expression changes, a pensive one as her eyes return to meet yours. “Sometimes we run, trying to find something better, a better world. And sometimes…sometimes running away leads us back to where we were supposed to be.”

She seems to think about your words and nods slowly. “I feel bad for Jamie, my brother, I really do. I know that he feels pressured…” She shakes her head, chuckling at herself. “What am I doing? You’re a perfect stranger!”

You smile. “I have that effect on people sometimes. I learned it from others who were willing to listen to my problems.” You tilt your head. “Maybe you should be willing to listen to…Jamie, was it?” She nods her head. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting something better, and maybe it can start with you.”

“It’ll start with me, too! I’m gonna make the world a better one!” Isaac chimes in, his chest puffed in confidence. “I’m gonna be a lawyer!”

The woman’s brow lifts. “Oh? Well, that’s quite the ambitious idea.”

“It is! But my dad says that he believes I can do it.”

The woman smiles. “He must be really proud of you, then. Sounds like you have a loving father.” Then, after a moment, her smile fades. “You’re very fortunate.”

You look down at your son, unable to contain your pride despite the woman’s melancholic shift. “I’ve always believed that it is up to us to change our circumstances, no matter how grim they seem. It is different for everyone, but everyone has the ability to change the course of their lives.” You lift your head to meet the woman’s gaze. “I should know.”

She nods, her eyes lighting up with a newfound resolve. "Thank you, truly. I think I needed to hear that from someone." She offers a small smile and extends her hand. "Thank you."

You let go of Alice momentarily to shake her hand, feeling the warmth of her gratitude. "You’re welcome.”

The woman looks at your children. “You two have a wonderful mother, you know?”

Alice, surprisingly wary of the stranger, leans into you and says nothing. The woman keeps studying Alice, as though she knows her, but that would be impossible. Isaac, however, nods politely as he beams. “Yes, ma’am. We do.”

You need to get on the train. Bidding the woman farewell, you lead your children toward the nearest car. A porter is there to greet you, offering a hand to take your bag as you step onto the first step. “Allow me, madam.”

And with another bit of encouragement, like air under your wings, you and your children board the train.

***

Arthur hops down from the ramp after helping some of the porters close the large door to the train car. He wanted to be the one to make sure the horses were secured before leaving the station. He doesn’t trust other folks to handle his family’s horses, not ready to start trusting strangers just yet.

Two men grab the ramp and carry it off, no doubt to put it with their other transportation tools, and Arthur goes to search for his family.

“All aboard…!” The call is sounded and Arthur hurries his steps. He must have taken much too long with the animals and if he doesn’t board soon, the train will soon leave without him.

That would be a terrible start to this journey.

But the train is long. Which car are you in?

He thinks to call for you, but unless he roars, you won’t be able to hear him wherever you are. There are a lot of people out and about, but a divide begins to form as folks step away from the train and either arrange transportation or meet folks waiting for them.

Then suddenly, cracking through the cacophony of chatter and sounds, his name is called out.

“Arthur…!”

It sounds like it’s coming from two places at once, not clear enough for him to tell who it is or where it’s coming from.

Then a single, feminine voice. Your voice. “Arthur…!”

He begins to look above the people and towards the train, just as steam billows around its wheels. The sound came from there, he thinks, and he walks toward it.

Then suddenly, a young man’s voice. “Hey! Arthur!”

Then a woman’s voice follows. “Arthur…! Over here…!”

His heart nearly stops. That almost sounds like…

It’s coming from the station, not the train. He halts in his steps to turn and look, trying to see above the crowd.

He catches a glimpse of a woman’s face, dark hair, a straw hat. A break in the crowd reveals a young man in a grey suit, waving high. A face he could almost recognize, if it weren’t for the passing of time.

Is he waving at him?

But before he can even investigate, a hand suddenly grabs him by the arm, pulling him back and turning him around.

He only catches a mere blur of your face before he’s pulled into a kiss. It wouldn’t have mattered if he didn’t see you, for the familiarity of your lips and the sound of your sigh would have told him who it was. He is swept in the relief of finding you, feeling you, and he closes his eyes as his hands cradle your head and his tongue delights in the familiar dance with yours. Around you, the world buzzes with activity—the hisses, the clanks, the calls—but inside this embrace, there is only peace.

And the other voices calling his name have stopped.

As he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, he breathes heavily. "Thought I lost you there for a moment," he sighs. “Kept hearin’ my name from all sorts of places.”

“Well, you just focus on me, Mr. Morgan,” you say as your arms wrap around him. “Though you couldn’t lose me if you tried.”

“I’ve never tried to,” he chuckles.

“You better not,” you say with a gentle squeeze. “Because I’m yours forever.”

He grins at that as his thumbs caress your cheeks. What he thought he heard must have been his imagination. It wasn’t Mary calling out to him, messing with his mind, trying to pull him back into the painful past after so many years.

She may have broken his heart, but it was you who put it back together again.

It has always been you.

“Forever means a long time,” he says, a playful tone emerging in his throat. “You shoah you want that?”

You bring your hands to cover his, slipping your fingers between his, and he can feel the gold band around your finger. “I took your name, didn’t I?”

“You shoah did, darlin’,” he answers, feeling the assurance that he’s long craved. “You shoah did.”

Thank you so much! Would love to hear any thoughts on this chapter. What did you think about the encounter with you-know-who?

Tag Requests: @photo1030, @eternalsams

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