Brendan didn't know where blood got made, but was pretty sure it wasn't the nose. People did bleed lots from their faces, but they also bled a lot from their chests. Your chest was where your heart was, and your face was where your mouth and eyes were. If you got shot either place, you were a goner.
He frowned at Fa as he digested this new information, his own heart aching at the thought of the strain on poor Bridget's heart. If both Fa and a doctor had said the same thing, they must be right. It was only a matter of time for Bridget.
He clenched his fists and stared at Fa. "So you're just gonna leave her? You're gonna up and leave her and Crabbe when they both need you?"
It wasn't right. Didn't Fa have some sort of Chinese medicine that could help Bridget, or at least slow things down? He didn't know about the acupuncture, or how long Fa had been caring for Bridget.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Arabella was just staring at the ground, trying to take it all in. Brendan was still interrogating the Chinese man.
He clenched his fists and stared at Fa. "So you're just gonna leave her? You're gonna up and leave her and Crabbe when they both need you?"
Mr Fa remained impassive: he didn't see the world the same way as these Americans. His universe was predicable, fortune undulated up and down, the crests needed to be exploited, the troughs born patiently. Bridget and Crabbe: they had enjoyed quite a time together, the three of them. Great Harvest. Good Fortune. But neither had existed once, and neither would exist in the future. What was there to mourn? There was no loss. Both would just return to the universe, the great chaos, as he would himself one day.
"Nothing more to do. So long." Fa said simply and he and the mule set off.
Brendan looked about to remonstrate further, but Arabella gently held his arm.
"Don't bother, Mississippi... we'll do it. When Lorenzo's gone. We'll look after Bridget; you and me and Miriam and Caroline and even 'Monkey Girl Jemima Wigfall..." despite the tragic nature of their talk, she couldn't resist revisiting that moniker.
"We'll give her the best life possible while she's still here: that's more important than any silly old marriage. Yeah?" she looked up at him; he had such soft sensitive brown eyes and although she knew he could be oddly callous at times, she knew that he could also feel deeply.
Brendan watched as Fa rode away, his mind whirling. It didn't take much to confuse him, and he was confused as all get-out now. But one thing was clear: he couldn't marry Bridget.
When Arabella took his arm, he stared at her, trying to glean some comfort from her words. It was a good sentiment, but none of the people she'd mentioned - including him - had a lot of money or an ideal place for Bridget to live.
But he nodded his head and finally mumbled, "Yeah. Yeah." He turned around, stuck his hands in his pockets, and trudged away from the funeral parlor with a feeling of defeat. He'd been all set to either do verbal battle with Crabbe or have a heart-to-heart talk with Bridget, and Fa had taken all the wind out of his sails.
It wasn't until they were out on the main street again that he thought to ask Arabella, "Who's Dolly? And what's promisc...whatever?"
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
But he nodded his head and finally mumbled, "Yeah. Yeah." He turned around, stuck his hands in his pockets, and trudged away from the funeral parlor with a feeling of defeat. He'd been all set to either do verbal battle with Crabbe or have a heart-to-heart talk with Bridget, and Fa had taken all the wind out of his sails.
"Wait fer me!" Arabella ran after him and put her arm through his. She didn't care what people said. These were the days when a man and woman wouldn't walk arm in arm unless they were sweethearts, whereas two pals, be they two men or to women would happily walk arm in arm or even hand in hand. Brendan was her pal, and they were a pair of pals worried about another pal, and that should make them double pally.
It wasn't until they were out on the main street again that he thought to ask Arabella, "Who's Dolly? And what's promisc...whatever?"
"Oh Dolly, he he, that's just my pet name for Miriam Kaufmann, you don't know her, but she's my... my bosom friend. And 'promiscuous' - that just means she makes lots of promises!" Arabella lied, before muttering under her breath 'just a pity she don't keep 'em all!' She would keep Miriam as far away from Brendan as possible: after all, if she was willing to 'experiment' will silly old Hector Wigfall, she might be more than willing to experiment with the undeniably handsome Mr. Connelly.
Miriam had promised to be good from now on, of course, but Arabella figured that she might promise not to scratch, but she couldn't promise not to itch.
A meandering drunk staggered past, either on his way to the Saloon for opening time, or still trying to get home from last night.
"Howdy Mister O'Toole!" greeted Arabella cheerily, still arm in arm with Brendan.
The old Irishman nearly toppled over in shock, but turning hollered back, in pleasant, if slightly slurred tones "Mornin' Reb! Say, who's your boyfriend, y'make a nice couple!!" before he reeled off down the street.
This made Arabella laugh, she looked up at Brendan and said "He must be drunk, if he thinks a nice lookin' feller like you'd be courtin' a goofy toothed, plain faced, sidegogglin' ol' scarecrow like me!"
Brendan waited until Arabella caught up with him, and let her take his arm even though the height difference made it a little awkward. Arabella still had some growing to do, height-wise and figure-wise, before people would mistake them for a couple. Of course, anyone who knew Arabella rather well would know that she and Brendan would never be a couple.
"Lots'a promises. Got it." He kept his reply short, but not curt. He wasn't angry, he was just so darned confused.
Thankfully, a passerby broke into his thoughts with a holler. Apparently Mister O'Toole didn't know Arabella very well, since he thought she and Brendan were a couple. Arabella found it funny, and even Brendan cracked a grin.
"Aw, you're not so bad. You're a sight prettier than when we met at that barn dance." He nudged her, still grinning, but then the grin faded. "'Sides, I don't have much sense when it comes to who I...find attractive."
Was that the right word for what he'd felt for Bridget? No, not really. It wasn't love, either. It was...something he would never be able to find a word for.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
This made Arabella laugh, she looked up at Brendan and said "He must be drunk, if he thinks a nice lookin' feller like you'd be courtin' a goofy toothed, plain faced, sidegogglin' ol' scarecrow like me!"
"Aw, you're not so bad. You're a sight prettier than when we met at that barn dance." He nudged her, still grinning.
"Yeah, I know I ain't so bad; that's what's called 'fishin' fer compliments', knot head." she teased him, it worked for a second, but the sad tidings they had just heard obviously got the better of him again.
... the grin faded. "'Sides, I don't have much sense when it comes to who I...find attractive."
She patted his arm.
"Oh, she's out there, Bren, somewhere. Some girl with the looks of Caroline Mundee, the innocent sweetness of Bridget Monahan, the amazing intelligence and talent and funny jokes of me, and the... well, whatever it is you love about them horses of yours... there's a girl with all of that, and she's just made fer you: and every day is a day nearer to the day you meet her. Why, she... she could walk round that corner any second now..."
And then it happened, a woman rounded the corner - the Sun behind her - Arabella's mouth gaped - for a horrible second she thought it was Jemima Wigfall, but no... as she came nearer and the shadow of a building blocked the Sun they could see it was the crippled girl Bridget Monahan. She smiled massively at the sight of Brendan and Arabella. She increased her pace toward them.
"Howdy Bridge!" Arabella yelped, sounding sort of guilty.
"Me and Brendan was lookin' for ya." she added. Bridget said nothing, just smiled at the short girl and then looked into the cowboy's brow eyes. Funny, when she didn't talk, when the listener wasn't distracted by her halting speech, how her eyes seemed to sparkle with some kind of mystic intelligence.
Brendan smiled indulgently as Arabella admitted she'd been fishing for a compliment - maybe she'd gotten that skill from Caroline - but his lightheartedness was short-lived. However, Arabella sure knew what to say to get his spirits up. Her description of the ideal gal for him was...well...more accurate than he'd have expected. But then, should he really be surprised? After all, this was Arabella.
He squinted into the sun as someone rounded the corner towards them, his heart catching in his throat as he finally saw who it was. He gawped at Bridget, gulped, and then lifted a hand to wave at her. "Hey, Bridget." What to say to her? He couldn't tell her everything he and Arabella had talked about with Fa. Fa - that was it!
"We stopped by to say howdy to Charlie," he said after a second. "He said he was goin' to New York."
He wasn't entirely sure if Charlie's departure was a safe subject. What if Bridget got all emotional about Fa leaving? What would he do then?
Want... dolls!
Hey, Bridget. We stopped by to say howdy to Charlie," he said after a second. "He said he was goin' to New York."
As Brendan started to speak to Bridget, Arabella felt suddenly awkward being there. The 15 year old rather fancied herself to be the intellectual superior of the much older cowboy, and was forever giving him her 'sage advice' about matters of the heart, as well as all sorts of other things. She wasn't even above giving him the odd tip or two on how to handle horses, even though she'd never been on one. As for the tall ginger haired girl, well, she was such a dunce that she could scarce make herself understood without Arabella's clever translations of her halting speech.
And yet, suddenly, she perceived within herself a strange feeling of self awareness: the true and certain knowledge that she was just a child in the presence of two adults overwhelmed her like some all engulfing wave. She didn't belong there, neither did Mr Fa, or Lorenzo or... or anyone in Kalispell. These two grown ups needed to be alone - lil' children away and up to bed.
"I gotta go!" the dark haired girl suddenly yelped and high tailed it outta there: running, literally running down the street, back toward the saloon. Bridget didn't even turn to watch her go. Instead, she wordlessly reached out and took Brendan's hand, searching his face with those clear, blue, intelligent eyes. She tugged at his hand, indicating that he should walk with her, a gentle smile that played about her lips told him that there was no need to talk or make halting conversation.
Brendan stared after Arabella as she ran off, unsettled by both Bridget's appearance and Arabella's disappearance. Yes, he'd set out looking for Bridget, but now that he knew...everything he knew...Bridget's sudden appearance had given him no time to prepare.
He stared at his hand with Bridget's smaller one wrapped around it, his feet moving only because she tugged at him. What could he say? He always knew what to say, except for when he didn't. And this was one of those times when he didn't.
But then...maybe he didn't need to say anything. Bridget hadn't attempted to say anything to him yet and seemed content just to walk down the street. He didn't know where they were headed, but he was willing to go along with her.
He squinted up at the sky, and then looked back at Bridget. With the glow from the sun, it almost looked like she was wearing a halo. Saint Bridget. Oh, he shouldn't have thought of that. Only dead people got to be saints, from what he'd heard.
He kicked at a pebble with his boot and watched it skitter along in front of him, then land in the dirt.
Want... dolls!
But then...maybe he didn't need to say anything. Bridget hadn't attempted to say anything to him yet and seemed content just to walk down the street. He didn't know where they were headed, but he was willing to go along with her.
As they walked Bridget turned and tipped her head as she looked at him sideways, the slightest hint of a smile perhaps indicating her gratification that he had understood her wish not to speak. Speaking, and her inability to do it competently, got in the way: she was different in many ways to any other woman in the little town. She did a good job of hiding that difference; the second she opened her mouth, all of infirmities she possessed were displayed, laid naked to the eyes of the world.
He squinted up at the sky, and then looked back at Bridget. With the glow from the sun, it almost looked like she was wearing a halo. Saint Bridget. Oh, he shouldn't have thought of that. Only dead people got to be saints, from what he'd heard.
She watched the shift of his gaze. Why was he looking up at the sky? She often looked at the sky: she didn't examine the clouds and classify them as cumulus nimbus and stratus; when she shaded her eyes against the Sun, she did not calculate it's distance from the Earth; when she gazed at the stars at night in the black crystalline Montana nights she did not join the dots into the fanciful shapes of animals and Greek Heroes. She just looked and looked and looked and sometimes, magically felt part of it: like the sky was where she belonged.
He kicked at a pebble with his boot and watched it skitter along in front of him, then land in the dirt.
Poor pebble. Was he sad? Why? Did being with her make him sad? How could it when being with him made her happy? No, something more than happy that was beyond her limited vocabulary. She reached up and gently stroked a strand of his untidy fringe from his wonderful brown eyes. Suddenly they were back at the Old Funeral Parlour, the front door now.
She refused to say it, to stutter and stammer it out "...Want ....you... b...before... before... I... die..." It was too clean and beautiful a request to sully with the dirt of her verbal disability. She could only gaze with her ice blue eyes into his and hope he would somehow know.