Posted October 18, 2021

Had she sight and the wherewithal to do so, Frances would have provided a hot cooked feast for her brother to come home to. Not because he deserved it (many would say) or because it was her sisterly duty (she had only known him, what? three years this Fall, he was not a person she had grown up with, he hardly felt like a brother to the blind girl, although people told her that there was a strong family resemblance). She would have done it because she would have been able to. This new place took some getting used to: there was a stove, but she did not yet trust her way around enough not to set the place on fire, or herself on fire for that matter! like this poor Mr. Orr she had heard about.

So Frank would have to make do with a cold collation. Probably just as well, he was never back when he said he would be: and then he was usually drunk, often to the point of insensibility.

But lo! A creak at the bottom of the outside stair that ran up the side of the hardware store and terminated at the top to the door of the pokey little apartment the two of them rented. Not Frank, though. A heavier step. She stood, a vague feeling of apprehension kneading at the pit of her stomach. A man. A man with a purpose. She walked the route to the door. Funny, Frank was always tripping over the foot stool, kicking the small table with the aspidistra on it, knocking the antimacassar off of the back of the armchair. He seemed less able to see the furnishings of the place than she. She knew where everything was; she learned it first with her hands and her mind, but now, after a couple of weeks, her whole body knew it.

She stood by the inside of the door, the man was at the top now. He was fit, it seemed, she could not hear him breathing heavily through the crack in the door, but somehow she did not expect him to be a young man, not Hector, for instance.

"Hello? Who is there, please?" asked Frances, raising her voice that the stranger outside might hear.

When she realised that it was the Marshall, she let him in immediately. "Is this about my brother?" she asked, in a voice that betrayed the fact that she would be surprised if it was about anything else.

"I'm afraid so ma'am," He was not not surprised, "Perhaps you'd like to sit down." He gave her a moment before continuing.

Frances experienced that stomach lurching feeling that everybody, sighted or not, experiences when they are invited to 'sit down' before being told something. She was not the fainting sort, but did as she was bidden, moving seamlessly to a beat up looking armchair and gently seating herself upon it, only a slight wringing of her hands betraying her angst at the forthcoming news.

"I'm afraid that your brother Frank got into an argument with some men at the Stardust Saloon earlier. Unfortunately for him, he drew his pistol, and was killed." That did not come out the way he had intended. It sounded hollow and cold.

"I see" said Frances with that odd calmness that manifests itself when someone is in the first throes of terrible shock "Thank you for coming to tell me."

The ensuing silence gnawed at her somehow, she needed to fill it. "I shall have to arrange a funeral" she suddenly blurted "I don't even know how much they cost." She felt guilty to be speaking of pecuniary matters immediately after being told such shattering news, but thanks to Frank's ways, such matters were never far from her mind.

"I have what money he had on him, and some from the sale of his gun totaling thirty-five dollars." He added. "Also, there is the question of his horse and saddle. If you like, Miss Grimes, it can be sold and the money would come to you." He had hoped to make the delivery of Franks death much more smooth, but he felt a failure in that department.

"Oh, yes please, that is very kind of you, Marshall." Frances said gratefully: her calm voice masking the whirl of emotions and thoughts coursing through her mind and her heart. On one hand there was worry: Frank had been an unreliable spendthrift, but he had also been a pair of eyes she could use, he had done certain things for her, usually grudgingly, that she herself would have found impossible; then there was a feeling of guilt because, in an odd way, she was glad to be free of him! That was an awful, terrible, unchristian thought, and she thrust it away immediately, brushing it under a mental carpet.

Like many people in her situation, she was torn between coming to terms with her real feelings and projecting those that she thought would be expected of her. Suddenly, she felt like she should doing something about all this.

"Marshall, may I offer you a drink? I think Frank has some spirits hereabouts." she asked, taking refuge in the familiar niceties of social intercourse while she tried to process what she had just been told.

"Honestly Miss Grimes, I never touch spirits when on duty, though I thank you for the offer. Have you friends in town? Folks that might stop by from time to time to help out if need be?" He asked. Perhaps someone you would like me to contact for you?"

"Not really, I was recommended to a Mrs Connelly, but I have been unable to find anybody of that name in the town." she sighed. "There is a Mr. Wigfall who got me some work playing music at the... I think it was a boxing match. But it would hardly be right to have a young unmarried man calling on me, you understand."

While Speed ruminated on how he himself would cope with the loss of his sight, Frances, who had never known the light, ruminated on the practicalities of life without her unreliable brother in a still relatively unknown place. And the guilt she felt at the lack of real sorrow at losing him: maybe that would come later, but right now, it was just shock and a sort of loneliness about the place.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" He offered.

She was about to say 'no'; that he had done enough; was doing enough. But she stopped herself. She had to face a new reality now, and get help: however so much that went against the grain.

"I need your advice, Marshall. I need someone to act as an agent for me in certain matters. I have always striven to be as independent as possible; indeed, the Institute I attended in New York trained me to be so, but I must face facts. Is there some trustworthy person in Kalispell who might, for a modest recompense, undertake some little legal and practical arrangements on my behalf?" she asked.

"I am Town Marshal, Miss, but I also have my own business, mining and resources." He began, "I have a bright young man in my employ who has a legal background. A Mister James Vaughn, I would certainly approach him on your behalf. He's English, I believe, and quite proper."

"English?" repeated Frances "Well, I daresay we must excuse him that." she allowed the useful sounding man that boon.

"I realize you'll want a bit of time on this, but I will see Mister Vaughn at some point today and present him with your offer. How does that sound?" He asked.

"Please do, Marshall, I trust to you judgement" nodded Frances. "If he is willing, I would like to meet him as soon as possible: I hope he might arrange the funeral and the payment of any debts my brother has... had incurred." she gulped a little and felt suddenly dizzy, the initial shock was wearing off now, now she was oddly aware of her own breathing.

"He cannot come here, of course: do you have any place... an office, where I could meet Mr... Mr Vaughn." she remembered his name.