She’s still protecting him.

I haven’t lost her yet. She came over to the house to speak about the dictaphone - her skill with craftsmanship is truly uncanny, and I may send some of her ideas to the labs in New York. There is more care in her eyes than before; she clasped my hand for a moment before she left last time. Perhaps it is my isolation that makes her presence so comforting, but I am starting to wonder if this is going to be Molly at Vassar again, or the theater owner, Douglas, who almost helped me make it. It’s an odd thing when my heart gets caught on someone. Like a warm embrace one day and a bramble bush the other.

Whatever he told her, she believes it. Even if she still believes in me as well, I remain at arm’s length. What I gave her was not enough, and I gave her all I had in me.

I have no confidence in the pastor and the mayor’s scheme. They overestimate how precisely they can influence the townsfolk and how dangerous Freestone gets when he’s backed into a corner. I should have never told them that he doesn’t want to harm anybody; now they think he’s too soft to cause any real damage when they pluck him out. I already told the Marshal that this isn’t his business and I stand by that. It’s clear that Freestone had prepared for a legal angle of attack before he stepped foot into this town. He is difficult to outsmart, and in the case of one bright-eyed beanpole of a girl, he is difficult to outcharm. From what I heard about the strongman, his only weakness is that he can still be punched, but the way he fought off Morrison, even that’s not secure.

Besides, if I fall to violence, I lose even if he loses. He’ll get to play the martyr, and his wounds would follow me through the rest of my career. Bastard.

He’s too careful. He’s too dangerous. And yet all he’s doing is talking and hiding. The one time I thought I had him with the graveyard, he veiled the whole thing in technicalities, made me feel foolish for accusing him even though we both know what he did. I’m turning him over and over in my head looking for a crack. I can’t tell if I’m mad or jealous or if I’m just correct and the world is wrong. I can’t remember the last time I’ve cared this much. All of this feels so important, too precious and fragile to simply scoff at. I need to know what he’s hiding. But he won’t tell me, and neither will Geraldine.

But he trusts Geraldine. And Geraldine trusts me, even if she won’t tell me everything. And Freestone is greedy for confirmation, and Geraldine craves validation. I could simply say that I was mistaken, and ask to join what scheme they’re planning, give some secrets about what the pastor’s planning to earn their trust. Geraldine would accept it, I’m certain, and Victor won’t deny her. It will risk everything to play both sides like this, but this is the only way to figure out what he actually is under that cold stare, what drives Geraldine to choose him over a career alongside me.

But will she accept another apology if I’m caught? Does it really matter to me this much? I’ve left so many in the lurch in the past twelve years, and I regret little of it - how can I, when people always wrap their chains around me to lock me down? She would just be one more.

But who else in my life has wrapped their chains around me to pull me up instead of down? Who else would be so idealistic, so stupid? Not my father. Not my mother. But her.

Either I go through with it or I don’t, and to do either feels like I’ve lost something. Accept the situation and pray that the outcome of Freestone’s scheming isn’t as bad as I suspect, or fake surrender to learn more and upset everyone who thought I’d behave myself.

I won’t solve it tonight. Tomorrow I will buy out Mr. Fry’s alcohol and drink until something makes sense. If that fails, I will go to church and seek answers out there. If that fails, hell, maybe I’ll flip a coin over it.