Chapter Text
In all the rundown towns Javier Escuella had wandered through in the five years since leaving Mexico, Rhodes was by far the worst. Not for its looks—the place wasn’t half as decrepit as some of the dumps he’d seen. Just a small tobacco town with the usual gun shop, general store, and a saloon long overdue for a coat of paint. The boards of the sidewalks creaked underfoot, the smell of tobacco hung thick in the air, and dust clung to everything in a fine, choking layer. No, what soured Rhodes was its people.
Two families were locked in a feud no one even remembered the cause of. The moonshiners against the tobacco growers. That alone might have been harmless enough. But the whole town seemed mean, drunk, and racist to the bone. Drunken fools who thought anyone darker than them wasn’t worth the dirt under their boots. Charles and Lenny slipped by with hardly a glance, but Javier? They made certain he felt their disgust. Every stare and muttered insult seemed to linger, pressing on him like a heavy fog. It was a miracle he hadn’t put a bullet through the lot of them already, though God knew he wanted to.
What burned him worse was that the rest of the gang didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care. He’d even tried to bring it up with Dutch, who brushed him off, saying he was “too sensitive.” Sensitive. Javier almost laughed at the word. He hadn’t been sensitive in years, not since she left him.
It was Lenny, at least, who told him the truth: this was the South. The deeper they went, the uglier it would get. Best get used to it or stay in camp. Not that camp offered much relief, with Micah strutting around and calling everyone “useless,” as if he’d been born their leader. Six months in the gang and the man already acted like he owned the place. Micah had no idea Javier had been with Dutch since near the beginning, one of the first true members, after Arthur, John, and Bill. Four and a half years in the saddle, and he was still treated like an outsider.
Only Javier had been an outlaw much longer than most of the men in camp. Some nights, he still saw it in his mind. The flash of her smile, the sound of her laugh echoing against the mountains, the way her hand fit into his when the whole world seemed theirs for the taking. He could almost hear the whistle of the wind over the canyon ridges, feel the sway of a moving train beneath them. Back then, he never thought it would end.
But it had. Suddenly, cruelly, when they were only nineteen. One day they were unstoppable, and the next she was gone.
By the fire, Javier strummed at his guitar, soft and aimless. The strings whispered against his fingers, the flames casting flickering shadows across his face. Tears pricked his eyes, but he kept his head down, letting the music cover what he would never let the others see. God, he missed her.
“Hey, Javier,” Arthur said, settling down by the fire, stew bowl in hand. The smell of simmering meat and herbs mixed with the smoke drifting from the flames, grounding Javier back in the present.
Bill was already deep into what Javier could only guess was his tenth bottle in the last hour. For a man so determined not to end up like “Old Daddy Dearest,” he sure drank enough to make that fate seem likely. Javier worried about him—Bill was a good friend, even if most of the camp used him as a verbal punching bag.
“Hola, Arthur,” Javier replied, keeping his voice low, careful not to draw the wrong kind of attention.
“You gonna play us a song, Javier?” Karen asked, smiling from across the fire. The warmth of the firelight caught in her eyes, and Javier could almost forget the tension pressing down on him.
“Not tonight, señorita,” he said.
“Oh, come on! You know we love it when you sing,” Uncle slurred, staggering slightly, more drunk than even Bill. The firelight danced across his unsteady form, casting him as a giant clown in Javier’s mind.
Micah leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin tilted like he owned the place. “Aw, come on, greaser. Don’t be shy. We all know you’ve got a pretty little song tucked away somewhere. Or are you scared we’d get bored without your whining?”
He smirked, then jabbed a finger toward Javier. “Or maybe you think singing’ll make you look less… foreign. Don’t worry, we all know your kind. Little dark-skinned boy with a fancy guitar. Don’t think you can charm your way out of the camp’s eyes, huh?”
Javier gritted his teeth, tuning out Micah’s barbs. The bully’s grin stretched wider with each flicker of reaction, clearly enjoying the show. Javier had never liked him—Micah knew exactly how much he hated that word—but before he could stand up and say anything, Strauss walked toward them.
“Herr Escuella,” Strauss said, his tone formal but gentle, the worn leather of his coat creaking as he stepped closer.
“Si, señor?” Javier replied. It wasn’t often Strauss addressed him directly; they were always courteous, but they rarely shared interests.
“A letter for you. No return address, it seems,” Strauss continued, holding it out. The envelope felt weighty, almost deliberate, as if it carried more than just paper.
The group around the fire froze. Everyone knew Javier didn’t receive letters. They couldn’t be coming from Mexico, not now, with the revolution raging. Javier also couldn’t read English, so nobody in the States would be sending him anything.
“A letter?” Javier said, reaching out and taking it. It felt heavy in his hands, sealed with a wax seal, the lettering on the outside… oh, it was written in purple. Her eyes had been purple.
He glanced at Bill, intending to ask him to read it, Bill wouldn’t judge, but Bill was too far gone, slumped over and drunk. Javier turned to Arthur instead. “I can’t read English.”
Micah snorted. “What do you want him to do about that?”
“Well, I’m not all that educated myself,” Arthur said.
“Arthur, please. I don’t get mail from anyone. I’m not asking for much,” Javier said.
Arthur shot a glance at the others. “Micah, Uncle, Karen—get lost for a bit.”
“Oh, come on, Arthur! Javier’s got a secret admirer and we can’t get in on it?” Uncle teased, wobbling slightly from his own drink.
“I said—GET LOST,” Arthur growled.
“Just poking some fun, gezz,” Uncle muttered.
“Gracias,” Javier said, sitting down by the fire next to Arthur. The flames warmed his back, and the smell of smoke and stew mingled with the anxious pulse of his heartbeat.
“Should I run Williamson off too?” Arthur asked.
“Bill’s soaked. Bill’s fine,” Javier replied.
“That’s a good point. Come day, he won’t remember this,” Arthur said. He flipped the letter over in his hands. “Wouldn’t you rather Hosea read this to you?”
“I trust you not to gossip, compadre,” Javier said.
Arthur gave a small smile and opened the letter. The parchment inside was as soft and pale as the envelope, the ink just as lavender. Javier watched Arthur expression as he scanned the letter quickly before reading it aloud. Arthurs eyes widened in shock
“Arthur” Javier asks
’Oh…’ Arthur murmured. He cleared his throat and began to read the letter to Javier, his eyes scanning each line as if it might burn him. Javier couldnt believe what he heard
My dearest Javier,
Hello, my darling. It has indeed been quite some time since we last spoke. The memory of leaving you on the side of that road haunts me every waking hour and even the dark of night. I regret nothing more than not turning back to save you. I could have done it, easily perhaps with a charm, or simply by physically guiding Yui and catching you as your horse went down but I didn’t, and I cannot change it now. That has been my greatest regret, always.
The way I left you to fend for yourself was cruel. Oh, so terribly cruel. It would have been less harsh had I pulled a trigger on you than leaving you to the mercy of the Mexican police, those cruel, heartless bastards. They could have killed you, they should have but I imagine you found a way to escape. I never thought I would see you again… yet, here I am, proven wrong.
I wasn’t entirely certain it was you at first, my dear, though I suppose one does not see many Mexican men this far south in America. What made me certain was your smile, it is unforgettable. You stood at the bar, laughing with some rough-looking American cowboy, and by Merlin, your laugh still rings like silver bells, even if it has softened with age.
I thought of you constantly: that smile, the songs you played for me at night while we hid in caves far from civilization, the way your voice was like warm honey as you sang old folk tunes while I brewed my potions over an open flame, the playful swagger in your step when you dared to do what you ought not, and the cleverness with which you could talk your way from any trouble. everything. All of it, every day.
I hope life has treated you kindly. I hope America has been gentle with you, though I know all too well how cruel it can be to anyone different. I hear the names they call people like you daily “Greasers.” I heard it often in New Austin and West Elizabeth. You will be pleased to know I defended them, just as I know you would have.
I still love you, more than words could capture, and that will not change. I shall never move on from you, my dark-skinned beauty. No one in this world could ever replace you in my heart. You are my everything, my entire world, and I like to believe there remains a chance for us, though I know such hope is fleeting.
If you were to never open this letter and simply toss it or burn it, I would understand. If you read it and then burnt it, I would understand, my love. If you never wished to see me again, I would completely understand. But on the off chance you do, I’m catching a train next Tuesday as it winds through the heartlands, just past Emerald Ranch, before it reaches Rhodes. It promises a most scenic route, though the train cannot stop to fetch me. I hear it costs quite the penny to ride, but one sees such marvelous sights of nature. It will pass through the scenic route around nine. I could do with some company for this ride if you are willing. You and I, like the old times, if you should wish to join, it could be quite the adventure.
Always yours,
I shall love you until eternity comes to an end,
E. Phoenix”
“Elsa,” Javier said softly. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. She was alive. She had seen him. And she still wanted him.
He would go. He would rob that train with her, and then bring her back here, back to Dutch, back to what was now home.