He should walk away from this self-imposed torture, yet instead he approached the saddlebags and retrieved two tins filled with pictures—both recent and older.
He’d only taken them for his own benefit, to capture moments in time that he might never experience again, but where Lars had been annoying in his constant nagging for portraits, Ned was someone who’d appreciate the views imprinted on paper. He was always one to contemplate things and see beauty where most people did not. That was why his stories about the stars had been so captivating, and why Arizona Territory had been more beautiful with Ned at his side.
He’d surely see something new in Cole’s photographs too.
Cole hesitated, but in the end climbed onto the desk and sat cross-legged alongside Ned, handing him the first tin. He could hardly believe they were able to talk at all after last night’s brawl, but he welcomed it nevertheless.
Ned pulled the lamp closer and opened the tin with care. Cole noticed the red scratches he’d left on Ned’s palms, but there was nothing he could do about those now.
Curiosity sparked in Ned’s eyes when he pulled out the first photograph. “And where is this?”
“That’s the Hudson River. I took this last year, on the way to New York City,” Cole said, looking at the white blur that remained where a bird had flown in front of his camera.
“What did you do there?” Ned asked, flipping to the next photograph as he put the previous one on the desk.
Cole swallowed and showed Ned the next picture, this one of a street so densely packed with people the view brought back the heat of that day, and the odor of so many bodies in one place. “I traveled there because I managed to track down Tom’s widow. You know, the woman he’d married in church, before he set off for the West. I thought she’d appreciate a visit from someone who knew him.”
“Did she?”
Cole chuckled, trying to ignore the hot needles piercing his skin. “She was happy to find out he passed on but didn’t appreciate me at all. I figured she’d want to hear some stories about Tom’s life, but turns out he left her behind without a word. Didn’t write to her once, so she set herself up with another fellow and could marry him when I brought the news about her being a widow.”
Ned traced the outline of a large pig carcass with his thumb. Next to it stood a man with sleeves rolled up to reveal the outline of a cleaver inked on one of his folded arms. “And this? I never met him. Someone who abandoned the gang in the past?”
Cole cleared his throat. “Tom got tattooed by a butcher he used to work for as a boy. The man in this picture learned his craft at the same shop. I must admit I was a bit disappointed with the origins of the mark on my forearm.”
Ned’s lips twisted into an almost-smile. “Tom always pretended he was more than reality allowed him.”
“I suppose that’s true. He was full of those grand ideas, but what were they really? Maybe the tattoo wasn’t a sign of belonging? What if he just wanted others to bear the mark forced on him?” Cole asked, pulling back his sleeve to look at the faded ink.
Ned mirrored his gesture to show off the scars where his own used to be. “I got really drunk and burned mine off with sizzling hot bear fat. One of the stupider ideas I’ve ever had. Can’t recommend it, but what’s done is done.”
Cole flinched. “You should be supervised. Like a child,” he mumbled as Ned uncovered a photograph of the majestic bridge stretched above the river with cables hung off massive towers. It was a structure more imposing than any other Cole had ever seen, and the picture did not express the scale of the damn thing properly.
Ned snorted and smiled for the first time since yesterday. “And this is in New York City too?”
“It’s a bridge across East River. You can’t imagine the size of it if you don’t see it in real life. Took me fifteen minutes to walk across it,” Cole said, grinning at Ned with unexpected ease. He imagined what could have been if Ned had accompanied him on that trip instead of Lars. They’d have spent endless hours watching people pass by, sometimes talking, but also enjoying the comfortable silence Cole could never share with anyone else.
He wondered if Ned would have appreciated the saloon with the secret back room, where men like them congregated, and if he’d find the expensive pastries in one of them fancy bakeries as tasty as Cole had.
“Is this where you’d be headed next?” Ned asked but then got flustered. “Not asking to follow you, just… just asking.”
Cole knew he was in a bad way when he realized that if he did unexpectedly see Ned in a busy New York street, watching him, anger wouldn’t be the first emotion he’d feel.
Relief settled in his heart the moment he thought about such a thing.
“I—I don’t know yet. It’s very different out there. Cramped. The air is dense with smell. Not sure if I could stay there for more than a week at a time.”
Ned took his time with each picture, and despite his features stiffening when Lars appeared in a photograph, he didn’t comment on the man’s presence. “Wherever you go, I’m sure you’ll take beautiful pictures.”
Cole swallowed, and his skin grew hotter in the places on his body that were closest to Ned. It’s been seven years since he’d met this man. Parting from him shouldn’t be this hard. “When I choose to settle down, I’ll learn more about the art. I could have a little studio. Like Gavin.”
"A safe way of shooting people, eh?"
Cole let out a surprised chuckle, nodding.
The next photograph Ned picked up was of a large church with beautifully arched windows, but Cole’s thoughts drifted off to Jan and his troupe. Without the need for revenge to guide him, Cole was directionless. If someone left him at a crossroads and told him to pick a way to go, he’d be lost. He had no plans. No dreams. No goals. But perhaps he could join Jan after all, offer to help Gavin with his work in exchange for training, and keep an eye on Tommy and Ned, if Ned chose to travel with the circus as well. It wasn’t as if he had anywhere to go either.
Ned stayed silent for a while, taking his time with each picture until he got all the way to the last one.
“I’ll tell you something,” he started, “but you have to promise you won’t be mad at Tommy.”
Cole’s shoulders went so tense he had to move them up and down in need of relief. “What is it?”
“He’s how Zeb found us. He’d left him a trail of messages made with pebbles, even about us taking him to the orphanage.” Ned sighed. “He changed his mind along the way, but was afraid to tell us the truth. It’s why he wanted someone else to take him instead. To protect us.”
Cole slid off the desk and rested both hands on his hips. “So he’s been lying to us all this time?” he asked, starting to pace.
Ned walked over to the door, as if he were afraid Cole might storm out and shoot the kid dead. “I guess you could put it that way, but he’s just a child.”
“Yeah, and children are supposed to be the innocent ones, yet here we are!” Cole said, unsettled despite knowing that Tommy didn’t have bad intentions. Why would he have outright trusted two perfect strangers who, he’d been told, murdered his father? His behavior made perfect sense, but the truth still tore at the fondness Cole had developed toward him.