Want... dolls!
Bridget didn't even hear Caroline come in. After the torrid lovemaking session, or 'special hugs' as she thought of them, with Brendan, then the shock of Lorenzo's death, then Mr Guyer and Charlie coming and asking her all those questions, even though her damaged brain was reeling she fell asleep on Brendan's chest surprisingly quickly, out of mere exhaustion.
She fell deeper and deeper into the depths of sleep, it became darker and darker and then it became light all of a sudden. It was very bright, the Sun beamed down on the wagon that Lorenzo had stolen from her old 'owner' after he had shot him as he had begged for his miserable, worthless life. They were running away from Dodge and heading toward somewhere called Kalispell. It was last March. Except it was also now.
"Oh you're awake." said Lorenzo as she jerked into life. He glanced at her, a caring smile on his face. "You know this is a dream, right?"
"Yes" she replied "I always know it's a dream because I can talk all right and think straight in dreams, I mean, really deep dreams. Oh, you're dead, by the way."
"Yeah, I know. What a way to go! Well, no use crying over spilt milk."
Bridget looked ahead.
"Are we still going to Kalispell?"
"No." replied the man. He wasn't wearing his glasses and fancy suit. He looked different somehow, freer. "Not sure where I'm heading. Someplace nice, I hope."
"Am I coming" she asked.
"Not yet." he put the reins in one hand and reached over and hugged her with the free arm. He told her some other things and then finally said: "You'll go back again now, and when you come back to me here again, we'll nearly be there, at the nice place. how will that be?"
She smiled at him and lifted up her skirt a little and wiggled the toes of her bare feet.
"Do you always have two feet in dreams?" he asked, chuckling.
"Sometimes I have four!" she laughed.
Then the swaying of the wagon made her nod off again, and she awoke in her bedroom, in the dark. Something was happening.
"The law is the law."
"Mining's not everyone's choice of hobbies, it just happens to be mine."
"Well, I expect so. Of course, wouldn't the stress of the heart attack cause his hands and fingers to tighten? That would cause the derringer to fire, I believe. Whatever happened, Crabbe shot himself, so I might just go with a reactionary shot, I doubt he intended to kill himself, not that I'm any authority on the subject." Speed looked at the corpse. "Seems he grabbed at his chest with both hands, one held the gun."
"If you agree then we have an accidental shooting, or a suicide, but I never saw where anyone shot themselves in the chest." He sort of shook his head. "The girl, Bridget, she's the real victim in all of this. Crabbe dead and Connolly refusing to marry her, added to her physical and mental problems."
"Accident it is," Jonah agreed. No point in putting the stigma of suicide out there if there was no sure way to tell what was going through the man's mind, and the poor girl had suffered enough.
"Connley?" Jonah had heard the name, but didn't really know the man. "Did he...do you know if..." he lowered his voice, so neither the deputy nor corpse might hear, "did they have carnal relations? The young lady might find herself in an awkward position, especially if the cad won't marry her." There were herbs, but there was time to make those sorts of decisions.
"The law is the law."
"Mining's not everyone's choice of hobbies, it just happens to be mine."
Speed let out a breath, "according to the young woman, yes, but, that being said, she used word like 'comforted' to convey the affair, and also, used that same word to convey Connolly's relationship with Miss Mundee, of that I could care less, but young Miss Monahan that's a horse of a different color."
"I can do little about it, much as I'd like to. Forcing him to marry her, if I could, would most likely turn him on her, something that needn't happen, at least in this case. As far as understanding what she was doing, I doubt she's mentally capable of such decisions." Speed was not happy with the situation, and with the inability to do anything about it.
"Yes, but the young man is," Jonah muttered under his breath, as if he was one to talk! Were it not for impulsive, unthinking actions, he would likely still be living in a civilized place like St. Louis.
"I can release the body to you," he commented to Speed, "unless you need something else? I can have the certificate of death to you this evening."
Brendan, unaware of the bashing his actions and reputation were getting downstairs, was listening to the footsteps approaching the door. He tilted his head to one side to hear Bridget’s breathing. Steady and slow. She was asleep.
He eased himself out of the bed and padded to the door in his sock feet, then slipped outside to face Caroline. It was Caroline.
“Hey. Gimme a minute.”
He peered at her face in the shadows of the landing and pushed open the next door. It might have been Crabbe’s room, or Fa’s. Whoever it had belonged to, it was empty now.
Fumbling around until he found the lamp by the bed, he turned up the wick and faced Caroline as light sprang up in the room. “What’d you hear?”
His arms hung by his side as if in defeat. Even though he didn’t know what the marshal and doctor were saying about him, he knew the marshal wasn’t pleased, and he knew Granny Miggins was on the warpath. It stood to reason that Caroline had heard something from one of them.
He’d thought she of all people would be on his side. She’d told him he shouldn’t marry Bridget, and had even volunteered to help take care of her in the event of Crabbe’s death. It was one of the reasons he’d said no to Crabbe.
But as he looked at Caroline now, there was something foreboding in her face. What had she heard? What was she thinking?
"The law is the law."
"Mining's not everyone's choice of hobbies, it just happens to be mine."
"Sure Jonah, but no rush, best look up old Jolly and have him pick up the body. I have to wonder what would have happened without the heart attack. I think maybe Crabbe would have shot Connolly, but, we'll never know." Speed observed.
"Thanks for coming and for clearing up this mess." He added, "The one that's going to be made upstairs will have some untreatable wounds, but that's the price one pays dallying with peoples emotions. I'll head back with you."
"Sure, all right." Jonah never liked dealing with dead people, except that they didn't talk back, but some were more difficult than others, and this was one of those cases. Mr. Crabbe's death was going to have a hard impact on Bridget, and it was something she might not recover from, especially if her dalliance with Brendan left her with child. And without Mr. Crabbe to look after her, then who?
"If Mr. Jolly isn't in," he commented to Speed as they headed to the undertaker's office, "I'm sure someone will be there to deal with the remains. Miss Monahan shouldn't have to worry about it." At least, he was sure, Caroline would help with arrangements.
The funeral business is dying, I tell ye, dying on its feet!
The Sign over the door, "M.C. Jolly - Undertaker", creaked a welcome to the lawman and the healer, and the meagre glow of a parsimonious flickering tallow candle indicated the signs of life - life amongst the lily-sweet stench of death - within.
Upon their knock, the door opened slowly with the slow funereal pace of a coffin lid being lifted and Mr. Jolly's bushy eyebrows danced above his beady acquisitive eyes as he poked his nose out of the door like a gopher emerging from his doghole on the prairie and sniffing the air.
"Aye, I ken ye've a customer for me, Marshall. And Doctor Danforth in attendance the noo: I ken ye've a person who's passed beyond a physician's care and into mine. Ochhh... not poor Mrs Matthews?" he queried, worried. Her boy Raymond was his main helper, and very cheap to pay: he couldn't do with the boy prostrate with grief at this busy time of the year. But his mother was ill, gravely ill, so it was a good guess.
"The law is the law."
"Mining's not everyone's choice of hobbies, it just happens to be mine."
He looked to the doctor and smiled, "No, no she shouldn't. I have to feel for her doc, a hard life just got harder." At that moment they arrived at Jolly's funeral parlor. Speed knocked.
Upon their knock, the door opened slowly with the slow funereal pace of a coffin lid being lifted and Mr. Jolly's bushy eyebrows danced above his beady acquisitive eyes as he poked his nose out of the door like a gopher emerging from his doghole on the prairie and sniffing the air.
"Good Day Mister Jolly, It's the Marshal and Doctor Danforth." Speed announced.
"Aye, I ken ye've a customer for me, Marshall. And Doctor Danforth in attendance the noo: I ken ye've a person who's passed beyond a physician's care and into mine. Ochhh... not poor Mrs Matthews?" he queried, worried. Her boy Raymond was his main helper, and very cheap to pay: he couldn't do with the boy prostrate with grief at this busy time of the year. But his mother was ill, gravely ill, so it was a good guess.
"No sir, not Misses Mathews. It's Mister Lorenzo Crabbe." Speed explained. "Seems he passed of a heart attack and an accidental shooting, but perhaps the doctor here can shed more light on it for you." He looked to Danforth, who may, or may not, have more to say about the death. the location of the body, or anything else he thought wold be important to the undertaker.