Mature Content: Possibly?
With: Brendan, Arabella, Bridget, Crabbe, and maybe Charlie Fa
Time of Day: Afternoon
Brendan's conversation with Caroline had stuck with him for the past three days. All of it, but especially the parts about Bridget. Even though he knew deep down that she was right - he shouldn't marry Bridget - something kept him thinking about the redhead.
Finally he decided he needed to talk to her...or at least try to. He clomped down the stairs and peeked into the saloon, searching for Arabella. What with all the recent changes in ownership at the saloon, he had tried to draw less attention to himself. Since the staff was all staying, and Caroline was part of the staff, he felt pretty secure, but you never knew.
"Arabella!" He finally spotted her and waved her over, already second-guessing himself. He must really be desperate if he was asking Arabella for help. Even though he had finally forgiven her for the things she'd said about Caroline, was she really the best person to ask? But she knew Bridget, and would know when a good time to talk to her without Crabbe around would be.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
The saloon dogsbody and general drudge (as well as star piano player) was very pleased that Brendan was talking to her again: but now, really? When she had an armful of crumpled and less than fresh smelling clothing which needed her immediate attention?
"Howdy, Cowboy? What's the story? You wanna help me with this here dirty laundry? I tell ya Mississippi, if I lay in and give Mr. Flandry's inexpressibles the treatment they really need with that old washboard, I'm gonna go right through 'em, and then I'll be up all night darnin' the darn things!" she expressed herself on the condition of Ralph's trapdoor union suits quite freely.
"And Mr. Fortner might look pretty fancy on the outside, but these here socks of his could just about stand up and walk to the washtub on their own, I reckon."
She carried on walking to the scullery, where a washtub, washboard and mangle awaited her attentions. If Brendan wanted to talk, he'd have to follow her in there.
"I ain't keen on doin' laundry." Brendan brushed off Arabella's request for help, softening his refusal with a grin. "You'll do a right good job of it, though."
Actually, he wasn't keen on doing any sort of work right now, but that was beside the point. It was nice to be lazy, and he'd been being lazy since he'd started living at the saloon, but there was always the nagging feeling that he ought to be doing something to make money. He couldn't stay in Caroline's room forever.
He followed her into the scullery and leaned against the wall, prepared to stand and watch her work. "You know Bridget pretty well, right?" he asked with no preamble.
He couldn't just come out and say "Crabbe asked me to marry Bridget," because if he told Arabella that, it could very well be all around town before the day was out. What he needed was to fish for information discreetly, which wouldn't be too hard. This was Arabella, after all. He just needed to prompt her, and then all he would have to do is stand and listen.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
If Arabella seemed completely unaware that Brendan was following her around the place for no particular reason, it was down to good acting on her part. He was up to something, or wanted something, or... well... something! Oh God! No! He wasn't going to ask her if he should ask Caroline to marry him, was he?!! In fact "Oh God! No!" would be her answer.
He followed her into the scullery and leaned against the wall, prepared to stand and watch her work.
She started getting together the hot water and the washtub and the washboard and the soap flakes and ordering what needed to be washed first. She felt sort of tense.
"Guess you like watchin' girls do the laundry, huh?" she laughed nervously. Say, he wasn't going to try anything was he?! She was sort of aware that he was blocking the entrance to the narrow scullery room. She started scrubbing. Funny, she never got nervous round a mob of men, like in the bar-room, but all alone like this... No, hold on there, partner, she knew how to handle men. That was her proud boast. What was she worried about? Why if he....
"You know Bridget pretty well, right?" he asked with no preamble.
All Arabella's tension flowed right on out of her and, presumably into the washtub.
"Oh!!!!" she sighed gratefully. Phew. Is that what this was all about? She enjoyed the relief for a second, then let the sadness flow in. Bridget. She took a deep breath and from her kneeling position turned her dark blue eyes up to Brendan's brown.
"Yeah. Why?" she asked simply.
As Brendan slouched against the wall, he rolled his shoulders to try to get rid of the odd tension he was feeling. But it wasn't his body, it was in the room. Arabella wasn't quite as carefree as she'd always been, and some of the tension in the room must be from her.
He tilted his head to one side, debating whether or not to answer her question. Sure, if the girl was shapely like...well, like Caroline, he'd enjoy watching her do laundry. But even though Arabella was filling out a little, he wasn't watching her in that way. He'd never in a million years think of her that way. She was just plain old Arabella.
His "hook" didn't exactly land the way he wanted it to. Instead of going on a ramble about Bridget, Arabella stopped what she was doing and asked him why. Why? How could he answer that? Should he answer that?
He cast his eyes over the rest of the laundry equipment while he thought of an answer. At first his words didn't come out right, but as he continued, he regained control of his thoughts. "Well...uh...well...you know we wrote letters to each other. 'Course you do. You wrote those letters yourself, didn't you? Well, I can't...can't stop thinkin' about her. And...I was hopin' you'd tell me about her."
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
He cast his eyes over the rest of the laundry equipment while he thought of an answer. At first his words didn't come out right, but as he continued, he regained control of his thoughts. "Well...uh...well...you know we wrote letters to each other. 'Course you do. You wrote those letters yourself, didn't you?"
Arabella shook her head innocently as she scrubbed. "Uh-uh, I just translated is all. Ever' little idea in that letter come out of Bridget's sweet lil' noodle." If she had known what was coming next, she might have said something different.
Well, I can't...can't stop thinkin' about her. And...I was hopin' you'd tell me about her."
Plop! The soap dropped into the water. Shlump. Followed by Mammy Cookie's unmentionables. "You can't stop thinkin' about her?!"
In the blink of an eye she was at his side and dragging this previous 'threat' into the scullery with her and hissing in his ear.
"You mean like in 'you can't stop thinkin' about her'?!!" she popped her head out of the door to make sure no one was about and then whipped it back in to continue her urgent whispering to the handsome cowboy.
"What about Caroline?!" however, she immediately waved that away "Nah, you're right, she good fer a fumble but not exactly marryin' material. But Bridget.... oh, Brendan, where do I start?"
She frowned. The obvious objections came to the surface and fizzled. The true one eventually was left there floating, like the last apple in the water in an apple bobbing competition. She looked at Brendan and his sad, lovelorn face. He was like a God damned lost puppy.
How could she ever have been scared of him? He was sensitive, he saw something in the dumb, crippled, mysterious, beautiful redhead which nobody else saw. Nobody else, she fancied, except herself. She looked at him and smiled and straightened his braces (well, he didn't have a collar or a tie).
"Listen, Mississippi... can I tell you a fairy story?"
“Really?” Brendan was just a tad bit skeptical about all the contents of Bridget’s letters being original, especially the stuff about Bridget being a red-hot kisser. Just the same, his heart skipped a beat.
Arabella seemed very surprised that he couldn’t stop thinking about Bridget. She repeated the phrase and grabbed his arm, seeming almost appalled at his revelation.
”Yeah, I can’t stop thinkin’ about her! And what about Caroline?” He demanded. “I know she ain’t the marryin’ kind.” Arabella was right about that, and about Caroline being “good for a fumble”.
He regarded her suspiciously as she straightened his suspenders. The last story he’d heard about a girl’s childhood - Caroline’s - hadn’t been pleasant, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Arabella’s story was just what he’d heard from Crabbe and Caroline.
“Does it have a happy endin’?” he said finally.
Arabella slid her back down the wall of the scullery until she was seated on the hard stone floor and patted the place next to her for Brendan to sit by her side and hear her 'fairy story' or whatever it was.
“Does it have a happy endin’?” he said finally.
"That's up to you." she answered, with an air of foreboding.
"See, onct upon a time there was this here Knight, like a knight in shinin' armour: cept this knight's armour was a kinda rusty colour" she couldn't help adding, patting the material of the brown tinged trousers of the cowpoke sitting next to her.
"And he was out doing errands one time, a-ridin' through the woods and the forest, and he came upon this great big ugly old tower, as tall as anything and with thick walls and a locked portcullis. That's a type of door they had in them days. And that knight, he looked up, and do you know what he saw? He saw a window high up and he just caught a glimpse, just a little magical glimpse of the most perfect, prettiest, clever, wonderful princess you could ever imagine."
She patted his hand absently.
"Anyhow, that knight, he just fell in love with that princess right there and then, just from that little glimpse of her at the window. And he decided he would wait until that princess reappeared again or popped her head out or come on out through the portcullis and then he'd ask her to marry him and they'd live happy ever after." she continued, holding his hand now.
"Well, he waited and he waited and he waited. And that Princess, she never come out through the door, and she never poked her head out the window, he'd just hear her tinklin' laughter, real quiet, far far away, or see a glimpse of her at the widow every now and again. Well, he waited and he waited, and eventually he just died of old age sittin' right there on his horse, waiting for that princess to show herself. See, she never could get out of that tower."
She was squeezing his hand now.
She craned her neck to look at him.
"I see her, too. Now and again. Sorta out the corner of my eye: the girl that Bridget should've been, but for all them horrible things as happened to her. And she is lovely. Ever' thing you could ever want in a... in a lover. But that girl... she's like that princess. She ain't ever comin' out, she's locked inside a broken shell. You gotta leave Bridget behind you, you gotta forget her and live your life Brendan." she said, sadly.
Brendan stared at the knees of his trousers as Arabella began to tell her story. It did begin like a fairy tale, but it didn’t have a happy ending. He hated sad endings.
“I can’t just forget about her!” He burst out, jerking his hand away. “Arabella, she’s like a…a little puppy you’d find on the boardwalk! I can’t forget about her. I’ve gotta do something ‘cause…well, ‘cause Crabbe said he’s dyin’!”
With that spectacular piece of news spread, he balled his hands up into fists and stared at the space between his boots.
If it weren’t for the fact that Crabbe was dying, he might have been able to countenance forgetting Bridget. She’d be well-off with the smooth-talking man, even if he didn’t really care about her very much. But Crabbe’s possible death meant that Bridget would be alone in the world, and might end up in the situation Crabbe had found her. Unless Brendan, Caroline, and anyone else who cared about the redhead could find a solution.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
“I can’t just forget about her!” He burst out, jerking his hand away.
"Well you just gotta!" she countered, grabbing it back again.
“Arabella, she’s like a…a little puppy you’d find on the boardwalk! I can’t forget about her.
"But there's stuff you don't know about her" Arabella said vaguely. She didn't know that Brendan already knew the horrible truth about the waiflike girl and the terrible injuries that scarred her body. She felt that if he knew, he would give up the idea of being with her... in that way. But she also felt it was not her place to reveal her secret.
"And, you don't have to be the one to look after her, she's got Mr. Crabbe and..."
"I’ve gotta do something ‘cause…well, ‘cause Crabbe said he’s dyin’!”
Now it was Arabella's turn to let go of Brendan's hand, and she did so like it was diseased.
"Lorenzo?!" she gaped.
With that spectacular piece of news spread, he balled his hands up into fists and stared at the space between his boots.
Arabella stood, dazed.
"Lorenzo?" she repeated. She took a couple of breaths. Her head span and spots danced before her eyes. "I think I'm gonna be sick!!" she cried and threw herself down on the floor, getting her head over a pail just in time for it to catch the full return of her breakfast as she made the most horrendous heaving noises. "Huuuuurrghghg!!!" [pause] "Huuuuuurrghghg!!!" [pause] "I think that's all... Hurrgghghhh!"
She eventually lifted her face from the bucket, looking a ghastly shade of pale green and the acrid smell of vomit filling the room.
"Well, thanks! Don't bother holding my hair outta the way!!" she chided Brendan. Another girl would have thought to have done that for her, she reckoned.
So, Lorenzo was dying? What would happen to Bridget? It was a poser all right: but in her heart of hearts, she couldn't see how a footloose and handsome cowboy like Brendan could look after a crippled and irreversibly simple-minded girl like Bridget for the rest of his, or her, life. With the best will in the world that adorable lost puppy would become a weight and a burden; Crabbe had said exactly that a heap of times; and a man like the handsome Mr. Connolly would attract other women, then what would become of his poor, half-form of a wife.
"Sorry, that twern't nice for you to see!" she grimaced. Good job she wasn't trying to impress the cowpoke with her charms!