As the Dust Settles

Tilly Jackson

Tilly sat in the parlour, a servant making the finale preparations for their visitor that was due in around mid-afternoon. With her almost five-year-old toddler Hazel settled down for an afternoon nap, her foot tapped excitedly against the luxurious carpeted floor.

Tilly was the happiest she'd ever been. Mingling with some of City's most rich and famous compared nothing to the joy she felt towards her loving lawyer husband and daughter, living the most extravagant life she ever could have conjured up inside her mind.

What made it more enjoyable was that she still saw Mary-Beth on and off and had done since the fall of the gang. She missed them all so terribly, Karen, John, Arthur, Sadie. Even hellfire Mrs. Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson and his cooking. Her servants prepared all their meals now after all. But at least she still had her best and most loyal friend.

A sound of pure joy escaped her as Mary-Beth appeared in the doorway, right on time as predicted. She pulled her in for a delighted hug and was held at arm's length. "Look at you! You look incredible!" Mary-Beth exclaimed, thrilled to be seeing her best friend again. Sister again. They would always be family.

"So do you! That dress looks stunning!" The two took their seats and tea was poured into cups before the servant for the afternoon quietly left the room with a grateful 'thank you' muttered in earnest from the lady of the house.

As it so often did, the conversation turned toward reminiscing of the old days, and how far they had both come. Both inhabited the lives they had always dreamed of, even if it was a far away world to the one they once knew of robbing, thieving and gunfights.

Tilly mentioned the Marston's, and again expressed how thrilled she was at the life they'd all created for themselves. John had looked in good health the last time she'd seen him just a few years back; she was pleased that he was alive and well. However the smile soon slid from Mary-Beth's face at the mention of the Marston's and dread immediately replaced the happiness Tilly had felt mere moments ago. "When?"

The writer looked down at the gloved hands splayed across her lap as she spoke, her eyes becoming watery with unshed tears. "A couple of months ago. Killed outside his home. Did you know he bought a ranch for Abigail and Jack to live in? He was doing so well too…I heard someone talking in the streets."

Tilly hung her head in sorrow, silently mourning a fallen friend. Tears of her own took hold as she placed her hand comfortingly on Mary-Beth's arm. "He did good, getting out and starting over. We all have. I just feel so sorry for Jack and Abigail. Perhaps I should write them with my condolences…" Tilly mused, wiping away the few tears she allowed herself to shed as she sniffled softly.

"Did you know Uncle was staying with them? I can't believe the old badger is still alive." Mary-Beth quipped, an attempt to not let the gloom hinder their visit.

"I can." And with that the grief was swept away and replaced with a room filled with giggles, both knowing just what Uncle was like. Of course the old coot had survived, he always did after all.

…

Tilly waved from the front doorstep as she watched Mary-Beth board the waiting stagecoach, her chest light and full of joy. It was times like this she seemed to appreciate the new life she now led the most, particularly when a small sliver of her old one came to light.

It was dark by the time Tilly had ventured back inside to dine with her family, her husband politely enquiring of Mary-Beth's health and well being. He was unable to attend afternoon tea as he had been caught up at the office, only having arrived moments after his wife's friends departure.

"She's just fine. Working on a new book but she wouldn't speak a word of its contents." The amused smile that followed from her husband filled her heart with delight, once again reminding of how lucky indeed she was.

They continued to dine in comfortable silence before retiring to the parlour for a night cap. The nursemaid made her presence known a while afterwards, announcing that Hazel was dressed and ready for bed. With a gentle squeeze to her husband's hand she excused herself and made her way towards their child's room.

Tilly took a seat at the edge of Hazel's bed, reaching for a book to read which was to lull her into sleep. It was a routine Tilly had insisted upon, remembering Dutch teaching her the same way. She often wondered what had become of that man, and despite Tilly leaving without a trace she still recalled the hours he'd spent educating her on things such as reading and writing. Tilly wanted that same opportunity for Hazel and intended on sending her to the best school the city had to offer.

"Momma? How did you grow up?" Hazel asked suddenly with curiosity, Tilly just having read her a story about a child living in the jungle with wild animals. The question stumped her, but only for a moment. She decided to try her best to explain.

"I grew up with some people who looked out for me and took care of me just like the animals in the story. Some protected me just like they did for George." Tilly smiled tenderly as she pulled the blanket higher, tucking in her daughter for the night. Her only wish was for Hazel to never know or experience the world she herself had grown up in. No painful loss or renegade gangs roaming dangerous lands.

Instead she explained as best she could and with a kiss to her head and the lamp switched off she retreated back to her own room, her husband already in bed. Tilly changed into her night clothes after bathing, letting down the fancy braid she had always favoured. When she looked in the vanity mirror sometimes she didn't recognise herself but that was okay. She may not be the person she was before, and perhaps one day her husband would know about her dangerous past but for now she was content.

Tilly examined the bookshelf and retrieved the new reading material Mary-Beth had gifted her as a present. Her latest book had only just been published and already she was working on another. The ex-outlaw settled in bed with the light cast low, her husband needing to rise early the following morning and in which was already snoring away beside her.

Tilly opened to the first page, scripture of dedication evident in delicate writing and she lightly traced the words with a fond smile.

'In dedication and memory of JM.

Gone, but seldom forgotten.'

AN: It pains me to think that back then communications were so difficult, and to often not know when or how friends and family pass away. For example the fact that they'd learned Uncle had survived after leaving the Gang, but not knowing that he'd ended up dead while defending their home.

Also another side note, I realise that George of the Jungle most likely wasn't around in 1911 but it's a story that most resembles the Gang's circumstances with Dutch taking in those who need a home.

Thank you all for reading!

~xoUselessLesbianxo~