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Suppose Abigail were to describe John. She’d say he’s many things. One of those things, however, is not a good decorator.
The man comes home one evening, having received a letter that morning. He looks proud of himself, like the cat who got the cream.
He saunters into the house, and she wanders from her spot in the kitchen to watch as the man brandishes a taxidermy squirrel of all things, and places it on the fireplace mantle with such an amount of care and gentleness she’d think she was looking at a completely different John altogether.
“Wha—What is that?” She asks, barely managing to hide the horror in her voice.
He turns to look at her. “It’s… Art!” The fool proclaims, like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, gesturing to the taxidermy squirrel in question all the while. The horrid thing bears such a resemblance to John she’d have thought he birthed the thing himself!
“Oh…” She replies, “That’s what they call it…” She bites back any quips about how ugly the thing is when she catches another glimpse of the proud look on his face. She hasn’t seen him look this proud since he’d built her the house they currently stand in.
He turns back to admire the squirrel. And she leaves him to it, returning to the kitchen to finish up on supper.
She hears Uncle lumber into the house from the back door.
“Jesus! Did Abigail give birth to a tiny squirrel Marston!?” The old coot exclaims. She decides right then and there that the thing needs to go.
She waits until the next morning, watching John go about the farm chores and load up the wagon with egg crates and milk gallons, before taking off towards Blackwater to sell their goods.
She immediately drops whatever she was doing beforehand. She snatches the squirrel from its place on the mantle and promptly shoves it into the chest in the corner of their shared bedroom. She hopes he doesn’t notice his squirrel child is missing from its throne.
The man returns later, just in time for lunch. She watches with bated breath, praying and hoping the man doesn’t notice. He sits at the table, his back turned to the fireplace. She feels the tension seep out of her as she serves him, and he doesn’t so much as look behind him. All is well…
They all sit at the table, eating and making small talk. Jack talks about a book he’s been reading, and Uncle complains about a hidden rash that makes everyone, but him, grimace—business as usual.
Abigail’s halfway done with her plate of food when John turns to her.
“Have you seen my squirrel anywhere? It’s not on the mantle.” He says. Outwardly, Abigail smiles innocently; inwardly, she’s being cast into the pits of hell.
“No, I can’t say I have.” She says, feigning innocence.
“Strange…” He replies, absentmindedly. At this point, all she can do is hope that he doesn’t trace it to her and instead blames it on Arthur's ghost, messing with him from the grave like brothers are wont to do… But even that is wishful thinking.
As soon as he leaves the table, John is dead set on finding his taxidermy squirrel. He checks everywhere in the house but their bedroom. He even checks to make sure Rufus hadn’t gotten hold of it. By the time nightfall rolls around, he’s momentarily given up looking for it in favour of going to bed.
He changes into his union suit and lies down next to Abigail with a defeated sigh. She almost feels bad, keyword almost. She is not about to have that thing on full display the next time company comes over, especially if Uncle had the gall to insinuate that she gave birth to it.
John snakes an arm around her middle, and they fall asleep spooning. The next morning, she wakes up in an empty bed. Which isn’t unusual, John typically wakes up first to jumpstart the day's chores.
She sits up in the bed, taking a moment to observe the chest that she’d dumped the taxidermy atrocity in. It's unopened, and nothing around it seems to be out of place. Still fighting off sleep, she doesn’t bother to check inside the chest and instead gets out of bed and wanders into the kitchen. She makes herself a cup of coffee and steps into the dining room to drink her beverage at the table.
Her good mood immediately sours when her eyes land on the fireplace. Back on the mantle, pristine as the day it was put up there, sits the taxidermy squirrel. Its beady black eyes stare into her soul. It sits proudly, head held high, like a king watching its court jester.
The next time, she makes sure to be clever with hiding it. She convinces John to take Jack into town, under the pretense that he’d outgrown some of his clothes and that he could use some one-on-one time with his father. She also gives them a list of needed groceries for good measure. John takes to it like a moth to a flame.
“Have a good time!” She calls, waving to them as they drive the wagon down the dirt path and slowly out of sight. She turns back into the house with determination. Just like last time, she snatches the squirrel from its throne.
She stalks into their bedroom, bypassing the chest and b-lining directly to the fireplace. She stares at the charred logs for a moment, half considering if she should fully eradicate the squirrel. But she’s not that heartless.
Someone made this hideous thing with care; there’s an attention to detail, from its mini hat right down to its tiny revolver. It speaks volumes about how much love was put into it.
So, despite it all. She manages to stuff it up the chimney flue as far as she can. And then to dissuade John from snooping, she places some new logs and lights them. hoping all the while that the taxidermy squirrel doesn’t catch fire… As much of a blessing in disguise it would be…
The father and son duo return in the afternoon, wagon full of groceries, Jack with a new hat on his head, and the two of them smiling. Success.
She makes them load the groceries through the back door. Not only because it saves time… But because she doesn’t want John to notice his beloved squirrel is gone from its perch for a second time.
“Have a good day, missus?” John asks, setting the last of the groceries on the kitchen counter.
“Sure did.” She smiles.
“Good hear.” He smiles back. He exits the Kitchen, and she hears his steps echo down the hall before he comes to a stop, presumably in the living room.
“The squirrel is gone again!” He tells her. God, for a man with so little attention to detail, he is remarkably quick at noticing when the squirrel has vanished… Then again, it sticks out like a sore thumb.
Where he’s put the squirrel is probably the most noticeable spot in the world. Right smack dab in the middle of the mantle, right in front of their portrait, nonetheless. It pulls the room together in a way that demands attention; even someone with little to no spatial awareness could spot that thing from a mile away! Uncle surely has!
“That’s strange…” She replies absentmindedly. “Must’ve grown legs and run away…” She then snorts.
“It already has legs.” John points out. Damn him.
“The point still stands.” She tells him, joining him in the living room to stare at the squirrel-less mantle.
“You think Uncle’s moving it, playing some sort of dumb joke on me?” He theorizes.
“Ain’t off the table.” She huffs, crossing her arms. She’d tell him it’s haunted, or that it’s come to life, but John isn’t that dumb. Slow, maybe, but smart in his own right. He may not have been as silver-tongued as Hosea, or as fast with the dry wit as Arthur. But he’s smart in his own areas.
She’d say Dutch was also smart, which he was. But the man was far less gifted in his plans than he’d care to admit.
It’s a miracle none of them had lost their heads sooner; every plan the man proposed always went wrong, whether he’d realize it or not.
Anyway, there’s no way John's going to actually believe her if she says it’s haunted or gained sentience.
“Shit… Maybe it did run away.” He mumbles. Well, now she’s just disappointed in both of them…
“The only thing that ran away was Uncle’s ability to read the room, Pa,” Jack says as he enters. For a 12-year-old, he sure has got some sass… Then again, he’d been sassy as early as the age of 4.
“Yeah, well. I reckon we’re stuck with him.” She sighs.
They all disperse from their spot in front of the mantle. Jack plucks a book from the nearby bookshelf and takes a seat on the sofa, content to spend the rest of the day with his nose in a book. Abigail exits the house altogether, opting to make herself look busy in order to keep John from roping her into looking for the missing rodent. Uncle snores from his spot under a nearby tree, lazy bastard.
She watches from the barn as John checks various spots around the exterior of the house. He even approaches Rufus, once again, to make sure the dog hasn’t taken it. Rufus isn’t allowed in the house, and he can’t stand on two legs, let alone reach the squirrel in the first place. John, as tall as he is, can hardly reach the mantle.
She busies herself with milking the cows and feeding the chickens, keeping a watchful eye on John all the while. She watches as he stops to peer around the ranch, scratching his head in thought while he does so. Abigail smirks to herself.
Like the night before, John lies down next to her, at his wits' end for a second time. The poor fool. Again, he snakes his arm around her, and they fall asleep spooning.
The next morning, Abigail is proud to find the squirrel is still missing. She goes about her morning in peaceful bliss, knowing the silly man may never find that dumb taxidermy critter.
She cooks dinner, smiling as she watches John and Jack play jokes on Uncle from the kitchen window. The harmony has been restored.
She’s too occupied with cooking dinner that she doesn’t notice John wandering into their bedroom…
Her perfect harmony comes to a crashing halt when, from behind John, where he sits in his usual spot at the dining table, she can see the squirrel has returned. Covered in a small bit of soot, with its little hat slightly falling to one side. Dinner doesn’t taste quite as good when she knows her victory has been short-lived.
This time, she doesn’t get rid of it the second John is out of the house. She waits a day, figuring she’d give her poor husband a break from fretting over the whereabouts of his squirrel.
She waits till night, peeling herself away from John as soon as she’s confirmed he’s out cold. She creeps from their bedroom, wincing slightly at the loud creak the floorboards let out when she reaches the door to their bedroom.
She turns, holding her breath and watching as John stirs slightly in his sleep before settling back down. Crisis averted.
She grabs the squirrel, taking a moment to stare into its eyes. She swears the thing is mocking her… She sneaks her way into the kitchen and over to the ladder leading up into the attic. Usually, she wouldn’t set foot in there; that’s Uncle’s domain, she doesn’t usually dare to cross into hell… But desperate times call for desperate measures.
She climbs her way up the ladder and crawls through the trapdoor. The attic is filthy, which is to be expected from a man like Uncle… The floorboards are stained with what looks like liquor and other… Questionable substances.
The room is littered with empty and broken liquor bottles, discarded empty cans and whatever other junk. She doesn’t worry about waking Uncle. The man in question lies splayed out on the bed in the corner of the room, snoring so loud she swears she can hear the windows rattling. He sleeps like the dead. Once the man is out, he is practically unresponsive.
Still, she makes sure to be careful. She creeps through the cramped space over to one of Uncle's chests. She stuffs the squirrel into the chest, slams it shut with a little more force than necessary, and gets the hell out of dodge.
She wakes up to John searching for the squirrel. She doesn’t know what he sees in that thing. She can’t even begin to figure out why the thing is so important to him. No offence to either Jack or John… But at this rate, he’s giving a missing taxidermy more attention than his own son…
She catches Jack narrowing his eyes at her from his spot on the living room sofa. It’s the perfect spot to watch John fret.
Jack pulls her aside into his bedroom.
“Momma… It's you moving the squirrel, isn't it?” He questions.
“It's hideous!” She confesses. “I can’t bear to have that thing sitting on the mantle!”
“Why not tell Pa that?”
“Look at him, Jack! The poor fool looked so proud of himself, setting that thing on the mantle!”
They both pause, listening to John rummage around in the kitchen.
“Just tell him!” Jack says in pure exasperation, fed up beyond his years.
“Just—Give me a bit to muster the courage,” Abigail tells him.
“What about this takes courage?” Jack quirks a brow. The little shit…
They pause again, listening as John thumps around in the attic. There’s a pause, followed by a triumphant “AH-HA!”
“God dammit…” Abigail pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Found it, did ya?” They hear Uncle ask as he enters the house just in time to find John putting the squirrel back in its rightful place.
“Found it in a chest in the attic.” John supplies. “You didn’t move it, did you?”
“Hell no! Look at that ratty thing, John! I wouldn’t touch that thing with a ten-foot pole, I’m betting it’s got a hundred different diseases!” Uncle replies, aghast.
“Like you?” John asks, dead serious.
“Very funny…”
“Come to think of it… I thought I heard some skittering last night…” Uncle hums, deep in thought.
Abigail doesn’t need to see him to know John’s turned to look at the taxidermy monstrosity. She's only digging herself a deeper hole…
She spends the rest of the time glaring at the squirrel like it’s personally offended her honour… Which, at this rate, it might as well have. She’d thought she’d hid it for good in the attic, no self-respecting person would venture up there unless absolutely necessary… She supposes she underestimated how much John cares for the thing.
The fourth time she hides it, John's busy helping Jack and Uncle shear the sheep. She takes the squirrel from its post yet again and stalks towards the barn. It’s a bit risky, hiding the squirrel when John's so close, but she’ll take any chances she can get.
Abigail’s just about to climb the ladder when John enters the barn. She scrambles, hiding the squirrel behind her back and giving him the most innocent smile she can muster.
“Hey, John.” She says, as sweetly as possible.
“Hey.” He says, taking note of her hiding her hands behind her back.
“What’cha got behind your back?” He then asks. From behind John, she can see Jack. The young man crosses his arms and cocks a disapproving brow at her in pure unamusement.
“It’s a bottle of liquor.” She lies. “Some real fancy stuff. I was hoping to hide it in the barn so Uncle doesn’t get a hold of it.”
“Oh,” John says, taking the bait.
She then leans closer to him, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I was hoping you and I could share it on a special occasion.”
“I’ll keep him away while you hide it,” John assures, and quickly leaves to herd Uncle away from what he perceives as some precious goods.
“You're evil,” Jack tells her.
“And you're not done shearing.” She replies, climbing up the ladder. She shoves the squirrel into the nearest chest she can find and continues with her day.
For once, John doesn’t immediately notice the squirrels gone. Two days go by in perfect bliss. He doesn’t even bring up the squirrel in conversation once. All is well!
All… Is not well. On the third day, she glances up from her spot on the porch to see John walking back towards the house, squirrel in hand. He looks delighted to have found it, and he doesn’t even bother to address her as he walks up the porch steps, directly past her, and into the house.
“I think this is karma,” Jack says, exiting the house almost immediately after John enters.
“Karma can bite me in the ass.” She grumbles.
She spends that night lying next to John, wide awake. Wracking her brain for places to hide the squirrel. John has managed to find it every single time; his determination to return the squirrel to the mantle is remarkable. She’s hidden in almost every possible spot she can think of that isn’t immediately obvious.
She concludes that if she can’t hide it where he can’t see it, the next best thing is to hide it in plain sight. She gets up early the next morning. Under the pretense that she needs to muck out the sheep pen, which she does.
She sets off like a woman on a mission.
She wheels a wheelbarrow into the sheep pen, grabs the pitchfork from the barn and sets off to work. It goes from mucking out the sheep’s pen to cleaning up discarded trash from around the ranch.
“Uncle’s turning this place into a pig's tine.” She huffs.
She tosses all the discarded bottles, cans, and any other trash into the wheelbarrow and leaves it there. Again, she’s hiding the squirrel in plain sight; she’ll move the wheelbarrow later when it’s convenient.
For the cherry on top, she once again, for the fifth time, removes the squirrel from the mantle, and she places it on top of the trash in the wheelbarrow, hoping John will mistake it for garbage.
She brews herself some coffee, takes a seat on the porch, and waits.
John goes about his typical routine, moves the hay bales, delivers water to various spots around the ranch, milks some of the cows, feeds the chickens, chops the wood, mucks the barn, and loads the wagon.
He’s walked past the sheep pen multiple times, right past the wheelbarrow with the squirrel on full display. She smirks into her coffee. Finally, FINALLY it’s working. If he hasn’t noticed it by now, she doubts he ever will!
She cooks dinner with an unusual amount of chipperness.
“What’s got you in a good mood?” Uncle asks, from where he’s been stealing table scraps.
“Am I not allowed to be in a good mood?” She asks accusingly.
“Now don’t put words in my mouth! I just mean you're happier than usual. Nothing wrong with it!” Uncle defends.
“Sure.” She replies.
“Maybe it’ll turn your cooking around!” Uncle laughs. She shoos him out of the kitchen after that, smacking him with a rag.
“OKAY! Okay, I’m going!”
An hour later, she’s finished dinner. She walks into the dining room, stew pot in hand, and very nearly drops the thing. John stands, adjusting the tiny hat on the taxidermy squirrel before placing it back on the mantle.
She should’ve guessed it wouldn’t be that simple. She grimaces and stares at the squirrel with a look that could kill as she serves John, who’s blissfully unaware of the conflict he’d inadvertently caused.
“Have a good day, honey?” He asks, chowing on his stew without a care.
“Just peachy.” She mutters, momentarily poking at her own serving of stew with her spoon.
“Jesus, Uncle, what did you say?” John turns to the man in question.
“Why am I always to blame!” The old man throws his hands up
“When aren’t you?” Jack asks.
Uncle scoffs.
Later, Abigail sits on the porch; she’s at her wits' end. No matter what she’s done, John has always managed to find the squirrel and place it back on the mantle. At this rate, she needs to do something more; hiding it around Beecher's Hope has been nothing but unfruitful… She gazes around the ranch, looking for clues as to where she should hide the squirrel.
She considers somewhere in the woods in Tall Trees, but even that feels too close. Not to mention, she’s not about to test her luck running into the Skinner brothers. She’s seen some of the poor unfortunates they’ve left behind. Those men are the spawn of Satan.
She considers selling it to the general store in Blackwater, but she doubts any good self-respecting store owner would willingly take a taxidermied squirrel and put it on sale. And she doubts anyone, but John, would just as willingly purchase it… She won’t lie, taxidermy makes her feel uneasy. With their stiff poses and lifeless beady eyes that follow you around the room. It gives her the creeps.
She briefly considers casting it into Flat Iron Lake… It would just wash up on shore, and John would definitely find it and bring it back.
Her eyes scan over the landscape before landing on one of the mountains in the distance… That could work. After Colter, despite that being 8 years ago, none of them had ever wanted to set foot into the mountains unless absolutely necessary. The only reason John had recently was that his revenge on Micah and Dutch depended on it…
Either way, the mountains are perfect.
Again, she waits until nightfall, she lies awake in bed till she is sure John is absolutely asleep, and puts the plan into motion.
She digs through their wardrobe, finding the warmest clothes possible. She needs to work fast. Mt. Shann is a fair distance away, and if she wants to arrive back home before morning, she has to hurry.
She takes the squirrel off the mantle, then saddles up Rachel, and stuffs the squirrel into the saddlebag. With that, she wraps herself in a warm coat, makes sure she’s got a firearm in case anyone tries to test their luck, and spurs Rachel into a gallop.
She remembers the path well enough. Mt. Shann is just past Strawberry.
She makes it to Strawberry in about an hour or two, and briefly stops to ask one of the few residents still awake at this hour for directions to the peak of Mt. Shann.
The man she asks gives her an incredulous look, confused as all heck why anyone would need to reach the peak of Mt. Shann in the dead of night.
Her excuse when the man asks is that her brother had last been seen in that area and hasn’t returned home. When the man asks if she needs any help, she quickly but politely turns him down. She then spurs Rachel into a gallop once again to escape any more questions. She hears the man wish her luck.
Getting to the peak of Mt. Shann is far less difficult than she had imagined it would be; the path up the mountain is surprisingly clear, devoid of any jagged rocks or brush. Rachel hardly struggles to climb up the steep paths.
It is, however, very cold. Abigail’s glad she brought her warmest clothes. She pulls her coat tighter around herself as the cold, harsh winds hit her. She reaches the top of the mountain about an hour later and scopes out good spots to place the squirrel from atop Rachel.
Mt. Shann, as devoid as it is, gives her an odd feeling. From her spot on Rachel, she can see one of Mt. Shann's faraway peaks, with what looks like an altar on top of it. It makes her feel like she’s being watched.
That’s something to worry about later, however. She finds a spot atop one of the peaks to her right. It's perfect.
She dismounts Rachel, grabs the taxidermy squirrel from the saddle bag and sets off. Climbing the peak isn’t all too easy; the wind whipping into her makes her feel a chill all the way to her bones, and the snow and ice make it hard to keep her footing, but she manages to make it up somehow.
She places the squirrel down and just barely manages to balance it on a jagged edge. When she lets go of it, she’s surprised to find it wasn’t immediately blown over by the wind. That can always change, though.
She carefully traverses her way down the slippery peak and back to Rachel, careful not to fall flat on her face. When she finally reaches Rachel, she quickly mounts the horse and spurs her into a canter. Mission accomplished, now to make it home.
She makes it home about an hour before sunrise. Beecher's hope is still and peaceful. Abigail unsaddles Rachel and takes a moment to stand proudly, basking in the moonlight without that horrendous squirrel to weigh her down. She’s almost positive there’s no way John will find it.
She climbs into bed next to John and falls asleep for the remainder of the night with a tranquil smile on her face.
Life goes on after that. John, of course, notices the squirrel’s absence, and he spends the entire day looking for it. He checks every possible spot he can think of around Beecher's hope; he even checks the previous spots she’d hidden the squirrel just for good measure. He sits down at the supper table that night, exhausted.
“Have you seen the squirrel, Abi?” He asks.
“No, can’t say I have.” She says. “It’ll turn up, just don’t work yourself to the bone looking for it.” She assures with a gentle smile, all the while internally she’s practically jumping for joy.
“Yeah. You're probably right.”
She climbs into bed an hour later and lies next to John. The poor man looks exhausted. She places a gentle kiss to his forehead and runs her hands through his hair in an attempt to soothe him.
“The squirrel will turn up.” She assures him a second time. She feels a little bad; he clearly loves that squirrel, but it needed to go.
“Yeah…” He agrees, tiredly. He turns to face her and tugs her close. “Love you… Honey.” He yawns, settling against her and closing his eyes.
“I love you too, you silly man.” She replies.
The next morning, they both set off early. John needs to run some errands for their old employers down by Pronghorn Ranch, and Abigail needs to head into Blackwater to send some mail to Tilly.
Tilly’s practically John's sister, and if anyone would find this entire situation amusing, it would be her. Probably at both Abigail and John's expense, but it’s probably deserved.
Abigail ends up getting sidetracked. She takes a nice stroll along the boardwalk, chats with a few of the residents in Blackwater, and does a little window shopping. In the end, she buys an actual bottle of nice wine. John did look happy at the prospect of sharing a nice glass of liquor with her on a special occasion.
She returns to Beecher's hope in the evening. John's not home yet, so she busies herself with tidying up the inside of the house.
When John finally arrives home, she’s happy to see him. That happiness is short-lived, he greets her with a smile as he enters the house; however, he walks directly to the mantle, pulls the taxidermy squirrel from his satchel and places it proudly in front of their portrait.
“You’ll never guess where I found it!” He starts.
“Where’d it end up this time?” She asks, crossing her arms and trying to make it seem like she isn’t two seconds away from cursing herself out.
“On the peak of Mt. Shann!” He laughs, completely bewildered.
“You don’t say…”
“I’ll tell you about it later. I gotta milk the cows.” John informs and promptly exits the house, leaving Abigail to stare at the critter on the mantle. God, maybe it is haunted… Either that or John's got the instincts of a homing pigeon, except it directs him to the whereabouts of the squirrel.
Either way, Abigail finally concludes that she’ll just have to live with the squirrel, even if she’s not pleased about it. At this rate, she could ship it off to Tahiti, and John would return home with it in his clutches like a dog proudly returning the ball after you’ve thrown it.
She tucks herself into bed that night, exasperated as all heck. God damn this lovable idiot, she thinks when John joins her.