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Tilly was just a little girl when she was taken in by Dutch Van der Linde. Dutch had saved her when he found her in trouble, he had knelt down and looked at her with a soft smile on his face, asking her if she was okay.
When he took her to the camp, she hid behind Dutch as she saw a huge man coming over. It might have been her being timid about everything, but he was the biggest man she had ever seen. His face was at first covered by his black hat, he had a holster that held his guns by his hips. When she heard him talk to Dutch, his voice was deep and calm but also questioning; asking him who she was and why she was here. When she saw him taking a look at her, she saw that his face was no longer hidden by the black hat; covered with a few scars here and there, his face had rough features but his blue and green combined curious eyes were looking at her with such sympathy and tenderness.
She soon learnt that this big man's name was Arthur Morgan. Whether he meant it or not, he had scared her. With her being kidnapped by a gang full of random men and her mother being killed, she had always been skeptical of men. Strange and sometimes evil creatures they were. So when she was taken in and taken care of in this gang, she made sure to be careful of how she behaved to not bring any more trouble on herself. She watched the men, especially Arthur, meticulously.
Arthur Morgan was a workhorse. He always woke up at 6 in the morning and when he woke up, he'd immediately drink coffee and do the camp's chores. He'd chop firewoods but never move them to the campfire, move hay bales for the horses, move maize sacks before the camp's cook could complain about them and tap water into the wash basin. This man hated lazing around. He always had to do something; after finishing the chores he would sometimes make small talk with some of the members and then mount up on his horse and disappear.
Usually, he would be gone for hours. Sometimes, those hours would turn into days and even weeks. Tilly was always a curious girl, she always wondered what he was doing when he was away. She never saw him talk about it. Rarely he'd come back empty handed, most of the time he always had something. Money, food, random things somebody mentioned that they wanted. Sometimes he'd come dirty and bloody and he'd avoid Tilly like that, immediately heading over to wash himself as he got off his horse. Tilly, mostly because she was new to this camp full of a bunch of adult strangers, was a shy little girl. She'd speak her mind when she had to, but most of the time she kept it to herself.
There was a boy around her age, though. John was his name, Arthur's little brother. They’d fight over the littlest things, annoy and bother each other all the time. It seemed like they couldn't stand each other but Tilly always noticed them together in camp anyway. Sometimes, John would tag along with Arthur in his mysterious adventures, too. Him being closer to his age made it easier for her to talk to him, so while they weren't exactly close, he was a friend. Sometimes a quiet boy, lost in his thoughts. Sometimes a troublemaker, always getting hurt in one way or another and needing Arthur to help him.
One day though, she learnt that John's last name was Marston. Not Morgan. Then she noticed; they did not look alike. Arthur was big and muscular, John was slim and thin. John's eyes were dark, Arthur's light. John's hair was long and black, Arthur's hair was shorter and light brown, it looked blond under the sun. She thought they were brothers because of the way they acted around each other, everybody said they were, too. But John was John Marston, and Arthur was Arthur Morgan.
So when Arthur was away from camp, Tilly spotted John on his knees near a tree, patting the camp's dog. She approached him and waved, when John noticed her, he stood up.
“Hey,” Tilly greeted.
“What's up?” John greeted back. His naturally raspy voice was not deep unlike Arthur's, but it was not high, either.
She sat down on a big rock and looked at John, they made eye contact. “So, I was wondering,” She said. “Arthur and you, are you guys not brothers?”
“Huh? Oh.” John gave Tilly a surprised look. Then, as if he's embarrassed to answer, he avoided Tilly's eyes and frowned. “I, um. No? I guess we are. At least, Dutch and Hosea say we are.”
Tilly raised her eyebrow at that. “What do you mean?” She asked.
“I mean… We don’t share blood.” John said as he sat down on the ground. “But I'm Dutch and Hosea's son and so is he, and. That makes us brothers, I guess.” He seemed hesitant and kind of embarrassed, refusing to look Tilly in the eye.
“Brothers from another mother?”
“Brothers from another mother.”
So they were like brothers, really. Tilly looked at the camp’s dog. He wasn’t a puppy, but he didn’t look old either. He was a very active dog, always moving around and sniffing things. She remembered Arthur calling him Copper.
John, noticing her looking at Copper, opened his mouth. “Copper is Arthur’s dog, actually.” He said. Tilly looked at him. “He found him somewhere as a puppy and adopted him. It was long ago, though. Before I was even here.”
“How long have you been here?” Tilly asked, genuinely curious. The gang she was running with before this one had no kids near her age, it was full of older men. It’s not like she wanted to be in that gang anyway, she was forced to. But with this one, she wasn’t forced. Dutch had told her that he only took her in because he wanted to help her and if she ever wanted to leave, she was free to. She assumed it was the same with John. He most likely wasn’t kidnapped, John seemed okay with being here.
“When I was 12 years old, Dutch saved me from gettin' hanged.” John said, looking at her.
Tilly’s eyes widened, she leaned towards him. “Hanged?!” She almost yelled, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. Then, she covered her mouth and whispered, “At only 12?”
John hummed as he looked at the ground. “Caught stealin’.” He said, voice calm unlike hers. “They didn’t care ‘bout me being a kid. Had the noose already on my neck but before I could fall, Dutch stopped ‘em. Shot the ones who wanted me dead and the crowd ran off. I’m glad he stepped in, I don’t want a death like that.” He laughed a bit, his eyes soft and his smile bittersweet. “Told him I don’t have anybody, so he took me in.”
“I see…” Tilly murmured. What a man Dutch was, saving and taking care of people. She was still skeptical, because she knew the horrible things men were capable of, but he seemed different. He wasn’t exactly soft nor gentle, but he wasn’t violent or aggressive and that was enough for Tilly.
“Then I met Arthur,” John continued. “Hosea, too. Him and Dutch said I was gonna sleep in Arthur’s tent ‘cause there was no space. Arthur refused, but they didn’t take no for an answer and he was annoyed as hell, heh.” He chuckled, then he turned his head to take a look at Tilly, to see if she was interested. He saw she was, so he kept on going. “He hated me, at first. Always frownin’ when he looked at me. Soon I realized that was just his resting face though. He always looks like that– Lookin’ like he hates everythin’ and everyone ‘round him. Miserable bastard, he is.”
Tilly giggled. “Oh, he definitely looks like that.” She said.
John nodded with a smile on his face. Then, he opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. Took his eyes off Tilly and looked at the ground again. Avoiding Tilly’s eyes on him, he covered his mouth. “I guess he’s okay.” He mumbled, voice small and embarrassed. “He, um. He’s strong. Very strong. And he’s good with shootin’, too. Sometimes it feels like he can do everythin’ and I–” He sighed. Tilly noticed his ears getting a bit pink. “Kinda wanna be like him. He’s cool. Don’t tell him I said that, though.”
Tilly hummed. “I get it,” She said. She didn’t even know the man that much, but it really did feel like he was capable of everything. “He sometimes seems mean, though.” She blurted out.
John immediately looked at Tilly and frowned, then she wondered if she said the wrong thing. She opened her mouth to take back what she said but, “Oh, he’s a mean son of a bitch, alright.” John agreed, voice harsh. Surprised and unsure of what to say, Tilly kept quiet. Then, he raised his arms as if to complain. “My God, so annoying! The other day in the morning, I was just mindin’ my own damn business and then he came and started talkin’ shit to me! Ya know what he said? He said, ‘Lil’ Johnny Marston, always lazin’ ‘round.’ Like, my god, Arthur! I just woke up! Whatcha want from me? Then he started talkin’ ‘bout how I always get in trouble and need him to save me, and like, what the hell is his problem? The day just started!” Left breathless, John stopped to catch his breath. Tilly just stared at him, speechless, then she laughed. John sighed. “He's always like that, I swear to god. Always annoyin’ the hell outta me. Well, I do the same, but– But, well. If he wasn't so damn annoying, I wouldn't annoy him back!”
Tilly closed her eyes and laughed again. They were brothers, alright. Oh, how lucky, how nice was that; to have a relationship like that with somebody. To act like siblings, to love and hate each other the same. Tilly was an only child. It used to be only her and her mother, and now with her mother gone, killed, she was left alone. Tilly was left alone in this world and this world was cruel to little girls like her. She didn’t have anybody like Arthur, someone she can call a sibling, someone that’d come and help her when she needed it. She took a look at John. He must have felt the same– Or at least, similar, before he joined this gang. He must have been on his own, scared and lonely, especially when he felt the noose around his neck all those years ago. But it was different now, wasn’t it? He had people he could depend on now, didn’t he? Would it be the same for Tilly? Would it change, too?
Men would be satisfied when she showed fear. Tilly wasn’t scared, she promised herself she would never be. Maybe it wasn’t fear that she felt, but worry. Uneasiness, discomfort. Anxious that she’d never end up like John; in safe hands. Secure and shielded from danger, surrounded by people who’d protect him no matter what.
Nights were tough for Tilly. They used to be quiet, peaceful and relaxing with her mother. But she was taken away from her and now they weren’t so full of peace anymore. Nights were full of misdeeds; it was when men were more comfortable about their nature. Witnesses were rare and with the law being more quiet, men were more laid-back. Tilly found it hard to sleep at night. Even with this gang night being calmer, she waited. She waited for one of them to do something. To put their hands on her, to tell her to be quiet. But they never did such a thing. Instead, when she was sitting in front of the campfire under the stars, waiting, Arthur came and sat down near her.
She tensed. She must have been lost in her thoughts, because she didn’t even realize him coming back to camp. It was her fault, she should have been more observant. She watched him as he pulled out a cigarette and smoked. There were a few fresh cuts in his left hand, they had stopped bleeding but were still red.
Arthur must have noticed her staring at his injured hand. “Five finger fillet,” He explained, his voice not tired at all despite the moon right above them. “Y’know it?” He asked.
Tilly nodded. She had seen the men in her former gang playing it. It was a stupidly dangerous game, an excuse to hurt and stab yourself. She didn’t know what to think of Arthur playing the game. He was a rough and intimidating man, obviously he wasn’t scared of getting hurt. Was that his sense of fun? Was that how he brought thrill to his life?
Tilly knew she had to stay away from men like him. Men who enjoy pain.
“How many clothes did Dutch and ‘sea buy you?” Arthur asked. She looked in his rough, sharp eyes. The color of his eyes were more apparent with the light of the campfire, it was beautiful, actually. Tilly would have expected a darker eye color of such a mean man. “I noticed you’re always wearin’ the same two or three clothing.”
“It’s enough for me,” Tilly said, taking her eyes off him. She knew better than to complain.
“You can always have more than enough,” Arthur said as if it’s the obvious. Then she felt his eyes on her for a moment and she froze, unsure of what to do. Did she do something wrong? What was he gonna do? She heard him standing up, coming closer to her. Her breath shuddered and her heart started beating faster, this was it, of course this was it. It was stupid of her to think they’d take care of her without expecting something in return.
She waited. She waited for his rough, injured hands to hold her firmly; but she received a gentle pat on the shoulder instead. She turned her head and looked up to him, she saw him giving her a smile. He looked young without the constant frown on his face. He was young, years older than Tilly but still young. “Go to bed,” He said, voice softer than she thought he was capable of. “Tomorrow when you wake up, I’mma take you shoppin’. We can get you anythin’ you like, made a bit of money today. Have a goodnight, Tilly.”
He turned around and walked towards his tent. “Night,” She mumbled.
Tomorrow came slowly. She had a hard time sleeping, kept tossing around anxiously. But sleep came anyway and when she woke up, she noticed Arthur sitting on one of the chairs around the table, writing something down in his journal. Tilly was a curious girl, quite curious about what he always wrote and drew in his journal. He was always so secretive when it came to his journal though, so she never had the courage to ask him about it.
After Tilly had her breakfast, he asked her if she was ready. She nodded. After Arthur informed Dutch and Hosea they were going outside, he mounted his horse and pulled Tilly up to his back. As they were riding to the nearest town, Tilly softly grabbed his clothes to not fall, making sure she wasn’t holding him too tight. She didn’t want to bother him.
“You know how to ride horses?” Arthur asked.
Tilly shook her head behind him. “No,” She said. “I wasn’t taught.”
“Maybe I can teach ya. I taught Johnny, too.”
“You like horses?”
“I love ‘em. Amazing animals they are.”
Tilly hummed in response. Having watched him all the time he was near, it was a stupid question. Arthur indeed loved horses, he seemed like he loved them more than anything. Always patting his horse, calling her ‘good girl’ and making sure she’s clean. Tilly would always notice a smile on his face when he mounted up, she would always notice the way he’d praise his horse before leaving the camp.
The town they rode to wasn’t a big town, but it wasn’t small, either. Strangers here and there, riding and walking around town. The general store was big, however, and the shopkeeper was a lady. Her face lit up when she saw Tilly getting inside.
“You got any clothes for her age?” Arthur asked.
“Sure, we got a few.” The lady answered.
There were a few clothes that fit Tilly, cheap ones looked plain and simple and the ones that were pretty were expensive. Arthur didn’t seem to mind, however, he assured her he had enough money and waited patiently as Tilly tried on the clothes she picked.
Tilly wondered why he was doing this for her. This mean, grumpy man who enjoyed playing dangerous games and risking his fingers. This skilled, natural shooter that enjoyed spending his time away from camp, alone in this ugly world. She thought he would have forgotten what he said back at the campfire in the morning, but he didn’t. He waited quietly for her to wake up, he waited as she got up and drank coffee. He waited as she ate her breakfast. Arthur Morgan was a man who liked to keep himself busy, always going somewhere, always doing something. John told her he was annoyed by his constant, never ending criticism; but Arthur didn’t complain once as he waited patiently for Tilly.
Arthur bought the clothes Tilly loved. It cost a lot, too much for Tilly’s liking, but Arthur assured her, told her it’s okay and that he wanted this for her. Tilly felt her heart ache. What did he want in return? What would he do after? How was Tilly going to pay him back? Tilly was a brave girl, she never showed fear, but she was too nervous to ask him what he wanted her to do to repay the favor. She hoped he would say it anyway, but he didn’t. Arthur told her those clothes suited her nicely, then kept his mouth shut as she and he went outside.
“What a preetty girl you are,” A stranger sneered. It was an old man with a bottle of alcohol in his hand. His beard was long and unkempt. “Wearing pretty dresses.”
Tilly avoided him and walked towards the horse. Arthur, however, stared at the man with a frown on his face. “You’re drunk, Mister,” He scowled, voice low and irritated. “Go sleep it off.”
“Whaat?” The man said, loudly, gaining a few glances from strangers around. “Can’t a fella appreciate a lil’ girl’s beauty no more?”
Tilly turned around and waited for Arthur to join her, but Arthur kept his gaze on the drunk man. He was silent and firm, his eyes wide, staring at the man’s soul. He scared Tilly. Felt like a bomb waiting to go off, explode and hurt those around him. Hurt who, exactly? It was obvious the silent anger was directed towards the drunk man, he would be the one getting hurt. But would Tilly be affected, too? What if she accidentally annoyed Arthur, one day? What if she got on his nerves, irked him? What would he do? Would he look at her the same way he was looking at the man?
Arthur took a step towards the man and Tilly waited as she watched. She waited for the punch to come, she waited for the man to fall on the ground, she waited for yelling and shouting. None of it came. Instead, Arthur reached out to hold the man’s shoulder firmly. With his back turned against Tilly, she couldn’t see his expression. His low and harsh voice told her all she needed to know, though. “Exactly,” He hissed. “He can’t.”
The drunk man seemed to have finally gotten the message. He stared at Arthur for a few seconds, then he nodded. Without saying anything, he took a step back and turned his back, walking somewhere else.
Arthur watched as he left. When he was far enough, he turned around and walked towards his horse. Before he mounted, though, he looked at Tilly and knelt down to get on her level. His face with his rough features, covered with a few scars here and there, softened up as he looked at her. “Listen,” He said, voice as clear as he could make it. “You got men botherin’ ya? You come to me. You got men tryna get too comfortable ‘round ya? You tell ‘em to fuck off and you come find me. Even if you can’t find me, I will– I’ll be there, alright? You’ll defend yourself, if you dunno how, I’ll teach ya. But I’ll also make sure you won’t have to do such a thing. You gonna be safe ‘round me, okay?”
Before Arthur Morgan got sick, he used to be such a big man. He stood firm, stared and removed any threat around easily. If his alarming appearance wasn’t enough, his knuckles were. His voice, not interrupted by coughs, was loud and clear. Before she got to know him, Tilly was scared of the man. He seemed dangerous, troublesome. Not knowing enough about the man, talking to him felt like playing with fire. His blue and green combined eyes, not bloodshot, were rough and ready for anything. Tilly had seen a lot of times the way he glared at any danger. Those eyes were a threat on their own.
However, that day, Arthur looked at her with such care and love; Tilly felt safe for the first time in what felt like forever. For a man so adept at violence, when he looked at her, his eyes were remarkably soft. Tilly’s throat was tight. Instead of saying anything, she nodded.
As she got to know him more; the image of the terrifying, dangerous man turned into a caring, protective big brother. Throughout the years, he provided her such comfort and sense of safety that she didn’t feel like she had to put on a brave act. She had nothing to be scared of. Dutch taking her in was the best thing that ever happened to her.
Good things don’t last, Arthur had been dead a long time. But somehow, the sense of security he provided for her never disappeared. There were times she was scared, especially when the gang came to an end but Arthur; with his then dull and bloodshot eyes, made sure she’d end up okay.
Married to a rich man, having children. Living a safe and good enough life, Arthur would have been proud of her.