Dutch's thunderous shout didn't just startle Hosea; it ripped through the very silence of the house, dragging every soul out into the light.
"What? Mary's here?" The cry rippled through the gathering.
"Oh, it's that damned woman again. She'll ruin Arthur sooner or later, you mark my words!" Karen muttered darkly, ever the prophet of doom.
"Karen, watch your mouth!" Susan snapped back, emerging from her room, her face alight with an almost motherly joy. She'd watched Arthur grow, had witnessed the heart-wrenching dance of his love story from its inception to its bitter end. To see him finally find a glimmer of happiness was a balm to her soul.
Abigail, forgetting her recent skirmish with John, spun around, her eyes fixed on the approaching horses already entering the ranch. Her excitement was a palpable thing. She liked Mary Linton. More than that, Mary was like her—fiercely devoted to her family, not the chaotic demands of the gang. It was the quiet understanding between a woman who wanted a home and a wife who craved stability, a chasm of thought that separated them from the wilder spirits around them.
Upon hearing the news, John, practically vibrating with glee, bolted from the house. He needed to see it, to confirm it with his own eyes. Arthur and Mary, already dismounting, confirmed his wildest hopes.
"Oh, Arthur, you finally got yourself a wife! Shit!" John crowed, a triumphant grin splitting his face.
Now maybe you'll leave my wife and kid alone for five minutes! The unspoken thought screamed in his head. John despised how Arthur constantly brought up Abigail and Jack, how it made him feel like Arthur was Abigail's husband and Jack's true father. It was an insidious, constant jab of pure, unadulterated NTR!
"Yah!" Arthur slowly reined in the horse before the wooden cabin, pulling it to a graceful stop. The crowd had swelled, a dozen familiar faces staring, eyes wide with curiosity, and a few with outright disbelief. Even Arthur, the hardened outlaw, felt a blush creep up his neck.
Mary, still nestled in his arms on the saddle, was even more mortified. Yet, with a fragile strength, she fought through the overwhelming awkwardness, forcing a shaky smile.
"Oh, hello everyone. I… Arthur and I, we..." Her voice trailed off, a soft whisper. The sheer number of familiar faces, the ghosts of her past, made her cheeks burn. But the deepest shame, the most acute embarrassment, was the cruel irony: she had left Arthur because of this gang, because of his life as an outlaw, and here she was, returning, about to join it herself.
She had, after all, lived amongst them before, back in the tender bloom of her early love with Arthur. It hadn't been long, but long enough to know every face, save for the newly arrived Jenny. Returning felt like a betrayal of her own ideals, a surrender.
But there was no other way. She loved Arthur. Loved him enough to abandon everything, to elope, to run wild with him if only their lives could have found a semblance of peace. So, when the Van der Linde Gang truly began to shed its outlaw skin, when Dutch's grandiose dreams finally morphed into something concrete and legitimate, she could no longer deny the aching pull in her heart. She came for Arthur.
For Mary, Arthur being an outlaw was secondary. What mattered was the relentless instability, the constant flight, the ceaseless bloodshed. She couldn't be a wife, a mother, a woman who could simply live and love in a perpetual state of chaos. The gang's transformation meant stability, the promise of a life she could finally claim. And for that, she would join them. She would live with Arthur.
As the gang's undeniable leader, Dutch knew he had to set the tone, to solidify Mary's place. With a triumphant grin, he stepped forward, a grand gesture embracing them both.
"Oh, no need for words, child. I know what's in both your hearts. So, live boldly in this gang, child. Arthur, from this moment on, your room is hers. As for where you rest your head, that, my boy, is entirely your problem."
He turned to the rest, his voice booming. "As for the rest of you scoundrels, tonight we feast! A proper celebration for the arrival of Mrs. Morgan! Pearson, you old dog, you're making something truly delicious tonight! I swear to God, if I see one more bowl of your stew, I'm gonna feed it to the hogs!"
"Oh, shit, Dutch!" Pearson roared back, a theatrical grimace of indignation.
Arthur, listening to Dutch's unequivocal pronouncement, felt a joy so profound it was almost dizzying. In the Van der Linde Gang, Dutch's word was law. His blessing meant acceptance, meant becoming part of the unbreakable tapestry of their family. Dutch had personally acknowledged Mary, given her status, and in that moment, Arthur felt as though his own parents had blessed his long-awaited marriage.
After Mary, still a little shy but radiant, greeted every member of the gang, Arthur finally led her to his room. And for a long, long time, they did not emerge. The planned expedition to Saint Denis, the delivery of the new clothes to the various shops—all of it was postponed by half a day. Tonight belonged to Mary's welcome. The long-awaited wife of the gang's third-in-command deserved nothing less than special attention.
Time melted away. The gang celebration, so long deferred by their frantic flight and desperate scramble for survival, finally erupted that night, a tumultuous welcome for Mary. The large wooden cabin at Hope Ranch blazed with light, a beacon in the wilderness. Outside, the dozen security gunmen, standing vigilant under the stars, offered a tangible sense of safety, allowing the gang to revel, to shed their guards, and to truly be together.
Inside, lights dazzled, laughter echoed, and the air thrummed with boisterous life. Arthur and Mary, seated amidst the joyous chaos, their faces flushed from drink, were nevertheless alight with a pure, undeniable happiness. That long-awaited conversation in the afternoon had shattered the awkwardness of their separation, leaving only the intoxicating joy of reunion.
Even Karen, who harbored a personal dislike for Mary, had no romantic claim on Arthur, so her hostility quickly evaporated. Her animosity was never about principles, only a petty belief that Mary wasn't "worthy" of Arthur's heart. Now that Mary was truly in the gang, that trivial resentment simply faded away.
For Arthur, the experience felt wild, impossibly surreal. But for Mary, it was even more so. She had run from this life, from Arthur's outlaw existence, only to find herself, against all logic, embracing it. It sounded like a betrayal of her deepest ideals, yet in reality, it was the perfect alignment with her unyielding love for Arthur. She had wrestled with the decision, endured countless moments of internal breakdown before arriving, but in the end, her feelings for Arthur had forged an unbreakable resolve.
They ate, they drank, they sang, they danced. Dutch even produced his treasured gramophone, filling the air with classical music that somehow blended perfectly with their raucous celebration. They spun, they swayed, they sang their hearts out. The Van der Linde Gang was genuinely happy, a profound, visceral happiness born from recent trauma.
Just a month ago, they had faced annihilation in Blackwater, then the crushing despair of the snowy mountains. The internal pressure, the constant fear, had been immense. Now, under Dutch's impossible leadership, they had undergone a seismic shift, growing stronger, better, more secure. And so, they partied all night, celebrating their survival, their transformation.
And for Mary, amidst the revelry, old memories stirred. The ghost of her youth, of her first time living among these wild, strange people, when Arthur's love was fresh and new, returned. It wasn't for long, those earlier visits, but this present moment rekindled it all—the unforgettable fire of her feelings for Arthur, forever etched into her soul.