His nose pulsated with hot pain, though the rest of his face was numb with shock. He could still feel the cold, biting metal of the revolver that Jackson had hit him in the face with. Did he deserve that? A small voice in the back of his head was saying yeah, ‘course ya did, and yet the pain in his heart seemed to contradict that statement. Scorching blood was trickling over his fingers as he cupped his nose. White bolts of lightning were shooting through his brain.

Jackson was walking back into the kitchen with Mary beside him. Leaving his brother behind. Typical. Pa was right. Pa had always been right about Jackson.

Matthew turned and walked toward the corner of the living room, toward his bed roll, toward his assortment of linens that were just a messy, jumbled pile of dirty cloth. How could he have been so stupid? Pa would have pulled the trigger. He would not have hesitated. As soon as Pa pulled back the hammer on his pistol, he meant business. Maybe he could ask Pa about ways to man up. Pa would probably make fun of him, but he deserved it. Couldn’t even pull the fucking trigger. Couldn’t stand up to his brother, and yet again another person was entering their house, entering their space, eating their food.

Watch, he thought to himself, Jackson’s gonna set them up in a bedroom while I sleep on the floor out here.

Blood was still jetting from his nose, though the stream seemed to be less intense than it had been just moments before. He looked up from his feet, where his eyes had previously been locked, and was surprised to see Arthur walking toward him with a sorrowful frown tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out a bone-white handkerchief.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Arthur said, handing over the cloth. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Matthew took the handkerchief from Arthur and pressed it to his nose. The pain was beginning to dull and the trickle of blood was slowing almost to a stop.

“Thank you,” Matthew said in a muted voice. “I’m embarrassed.”

“No need to be,” Arthur intoned. “You were right to defend your home and your land. The fact that Jackson seems to be happy taking in any beggar off the street is growing concerningly apparent.” He paused. “At least I asked first.”

“Exactly,” Matthew said. “And I was skeptical of you when you came in, too.”

“As you should have been.”

“But you also made it clear that you weren’ here to eat us out o’ house an’ home. Pa vouched for you, too. Now this Luis comes in off the street bleedin’ a bit and Jackson leaps to the opportunity to treat him like royalty.”

Matthew looked around the living room. Nobody was listening to him. He leaned in closer to Arthur.

“This is the same man who been stealin’ our crops out back, too,” Matthew whispered.

“Is that so?” Arthur asked.

Matthew nodded. “Pa’s been tellin’ me a long time ‘bout someone sneakin’ through our yard stealin’ crops. ‘Course Jackson never listens to him, but I do. Sure enough, I start noticin’ that we got beans an’ corn an’ all sorts o’ crops missin’. Luis lives on that farm across the river, y’ know, the barren one. So, he’s been sneakin’ over here to steal our crops ‘cause he can’t grow none.”

“You seem like a smart man,” Arthur said. “Just like your father. And if this man is the one stealin’ your crops, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s tryin’ to find safety in your home, eat your food, and not care ‘bout what happens to the rest of us.”

“Damn right,” Matthew said.

As he said the words, the voice in the back of his head began to speak again, saying a bunch of nonsense.

Maybe Pa was lying.

Maybe Arthur can’t be trusted.

Have you actually thought this through?

Maybe Jackson is right.

Matthew pushed the voice away as soon as it appeared. Of course Jackson was wrong. Of course Arthur could be trusted. Why would he lie? There was nothing he stood to gain. He was just being a good man, standing up for the common folk.

“Listen, I need to tell you something,” Arthur said. He lowered his voice as well. “I’m going to be coming into some money soon. I have an invention that is going to change the world. However, until then, I need protection. My parents never taught me how to fight. You, on the other hand, can hold your own. Your Pa must have taught you to fight.”

“He did,” Matthew said.

“Good,” Arthur said. He smiled. “You still have Jackson’s iron, right?”

Matthew nodded. “Damn right.”

“Good. I’m sure nothing will come of it, but if you protect me until the storm is over, I’ll make sure you and your Pa see a handsome reward.”

Matthew looked deep into Arthur’s eyes. Perhaps it was just because of the darkness, but they looked black – no irises, no pupils, no white, just darkness. Arthur was the only other one who knew what was going on, though. He was the only other one who understood what was happening.

“You have my word,” Matthew said. He extended his free hand. The stranger smiled and took it, shaking it firmly.

Matthew pulled the handkerchief away from his nose. A deep, crimson spot of blood had saturated the white cloth. He handed it back to Arthur and thanked him, placing his hand back over his nose. Arthur patted him on the shoulder and smiled, turning away. As he did. Matthew noticed Jackson had exited the kitchen and was staring at him with hot hatred.

For once, he realized the same hatred burned in his heart. He had tried so long to smolder it, to try and ignore it, to pretend it didn’t exist. And yet, there it was: orange flames curling around his heart, engulfing his lungs with black smoke, pushing heat toward his skull with noxious plumes of vitriol.

He thought about Jackson’s revolver, about the ammunition he had loaded into it, about how it would feel to pull back the hammer. It was probably still smooth to pull. Colts were magnificent weapons. Smooth to draw, smooth to fire, smooth to reload. Everything about them was a dream.

How would it feel? he wondered. What would his expression look like if I aimed his own iron at his chest and pulled the trigger? What if I didn’t stop until it was empty?

His heart soared as he thought about how proud Pa would be. He would give his son a rare smile, a rare I love you, and maybe an even rarer I’m proud of you. He would have protected the house, after all.

Not long after, Jackson showed Luis and his daughter to the children’s room - just as Matthew knew he would. When his brother walked by their eyes never met. He looked straight ahead with a stern glare covering his face. Matthew tried not to let the icy demeanor of his dastardly brother get to him, but in the end, it did. It always did. It slipped under his flesh like a sharp fish hook. Before long, Matthew was left with the darkness, the sounds of the rain, and the hard, wood floor underneath his bedrolls.

It was a long time before he could bring himself to sleep. He spent the majority of the deep night staring at the ceiling. Outside, windswept rain slapped against the glass windows and the strong walls. He swore he could still hear skittering sounds outside as well – wet and squelching in the rising mud, like emaciated feet tracking side to side, waiting for one of them to come out. Should he tell Jackson about the screeches? About the animalistic sounds that had pierced the night sky earlier? About the odd, wet sounds of disturbed dirt outside their home? He thought about it, but decided against it after a while. Jackson would never listen to him. Jackson refused to hear his words, even when they were heartful, or honest, or earnest. Jackson was only concerned with helping himself and folks outside the cabin, and in that selfishness, he blinded himself to the realities of the world.

Matthew slipped his hand underneath his pillow, feeling the cold bite of Jackson’s revolver. It was still there, still available to be used. As he closed his eyes, Matthew’s thoughts turned, yet again, to Jackson’s demise. He chewed on the image of his brother’s terrified surprise and swallowed it like a salty bit of beef. In the back of his head that voice was still yelling at him.

You won’t do it.

That’s your brother. He’s always provided for you.

You’re a coward.

But things were different now. He could get money for him and Pa if he protected Arthur. He could take Pa away, to a home of their own where they wouldn’t have to worry about the domineering presence of his brother, or Mary’s acute glare. They could live on their own farm and eat plentifully, and ride into town whenever they wanted. At night they could look up at the stars and fire off their guns. Maybe Pa would teach him a thing or two. Maybe they would have deep conversations about the important facts of life. Maybe, when Matthew took a woman and married (something Pa had been begging him to do for years), Pa would be able to look her up and down and say yes, this one. She’s a thousand times better than your brother’s wife, and that’s saying something.

Matthew shut the voice away again and focused on the dreamless sleep he knew he needed.

Next Chapter: Emma