"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR!!!"
It was not Mrs Mary Wigfall who opened the door to the meat packing, luggage toting Brendan Connolly that early evening, after Mr Kaufmann's store had shut up shop for the day: it was a very furtive looking Jemima Wigfall. And as the portal opened upon the sight of that unlovely damsel, her finger was already upon her colourless chapped lips.
"Shhhh!" she warned, and then in a low contralto voice "Come with me to the pantry to put the meat away and then I'll show you to your room before She realises your here."
'She', presumably, was her redoubtable mother.
Jemima pointed to the luggage in his hands "No, leave that there." she ordered him, quite peremptorily. Even heart-achingly handsome hunks of men like Mr Connelly needed to be told what to do, of course, else nothing would get done!
Despite the fact that Jemima Wigfall was a lonely hearted girl who dreamed of nothing more than to be swept off her enormous feet by the arms of a handsome man, or even an only half-ugly one (she could make up the other half of the ugly), the tall handsome... one could almost say beautiful... cowpoke turned butcher was quite safe. Miss Wigfall owed loyalty to three other women in this world: her fellow seamstress, Miriam Kaufmann; Arabella Mudd (unfortunately) and the wistful, crippled, brain-damaged, ætherial beauty, Miss Bridget Monahan: and Brendan belonged to the latter.
Jemima's steely resolve not to try and slobber kisses all over Brendan's manly chest was not well expressed by her next statement.
"I need need to get you up into your bedroom... I wanna show you something you might like" she uttered, her black, piggy little eyes gleaming.
The packing away of the meat was the work of a moment, the climb to the top attic room seemed the work of hours, each slow tread on the painfully squeaking and creaking stairs taking its toll on the nerves as the threatening sound of an out of tune woman's voice singing some dreadful ballad from the 1850s, "The Joy and Pain of Love", sounded from the room directly below Brendan's. Frankly, there was definitely more pain than joy in listening to that piercing soprano warbling away.
When they reached the room, it was not quite as small as the boarding house mistress had made out, the tall cowboy/cougar-whisperer just having to be wary of the low parts of the ceiling which slanted in line with the shape of the roof. Jemima placed the luggage, which she had carried as if it were light as a feather, carefully on the floor, so as not to alert the songbird below, and took hold of Mr Connolly's hard, muscly arm, pulling him to the dormer window that overlooked a number of other houses in the residential district of Kalispell, one of which was very splendid indeed.
She moved in close (Oh God he was gorgeous!) and, pointing, whispered.
"See that window there, the one with the green blind down? that's where she is." she looked up, way up, into his miraculous face and melting soft brown eyes "That's where they keep Bridget."
Brendan wasn't sure what awaited him at the Wigfall's, but he hadn't been expecting this. This being Jemima insisting that they avoid Mrs. Wigfall for the time being. She? Brendan wanted to protest, seeing as how she was the one who'd invited him to take up residence in her boarding house.
But Jemima was one of those people you didn't protest. His luggage, which consisted of his saddle, saddlebags, and his bedroll with his extra clothes rolled up inside, was left on the floor by the door as he followed her into the pantry to put the meat away, then up the stairs to his new bedroom, stopping for Jemima to pick up his belongings. Again, he wanted to protest, but she had already swooped them up.
For all Jemima's urgency to get him up to the room, she sure took her time going up the stairs, acting as if the faintest sound would bring out a demon of the most fearful kind. Maybe the kind that was wailing out a song downstairs. Brendan trod as quietly as he could in his boots.
He surveyed the room, his brows raised in surprise. All this to himself? The last time he'd had this much space to himself had been...never. It wasn't too small. The only thing that made it tight was the sloping ceiling. It wasn't as dusty as Mrs. Wigfall had claimed, either.
But he didn't have time to dwell on his good fortune as Jemima pulled him over to the window. "See that window there, the one with the green blind down? That's where she is. That's where they keep Bridget."
At the name, Brendan started. "That's her room?" He fumbled with the windowpane until he was able to push it open. Then, resting his elbows on the sill, he leaned out and stared at the green blind that obscured his view. Maybe sometimes she would leave her blind up and window open. Maybe it was close enough that he could wave at her and she'd know it was him.
He stared at the blind, willing it to move, and finally accepted that he wouldn't get to see Bridget that night. He left the window open as he turned back to Jemima.
"When's the last time you've seen her?" He assumed she'd seen Bridget more recently than he had. Jemima, Arabella, and Bridget were all as thick as thieves.
"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR!!!"
At the name, Brendan started. "That's her room?" He fumbled with the windowpane until he was able to push it open. Then, resting his elbows on the sill, he leaned out and stared at the green blind that obscured his view. Maybe sometimes she would leave her blind up and window open. Maybe it was close enough that he could wave at her and she'd know it was him.
For a horrible moment, Jemima thought Brendan was going to jump out and try and fly across the intervening space and she cautiously grabbed the back of his trouser waist and pulled him back with a "Careful! Don't fall out!" but so rapt was he in his ardour for his snatched away ginger elf that he didn't even seem to notice. She let go of the rough fabric of his waistband regretfully, it had been warm where it had lain across his lower back.
"When's the last time you've seen her?" He assumed she'd seen Bridget more recently than he had. Jemima, Arabella, and Bridget were all as thick as thieves.
"Only ever seen her once." Jemima informed him grimly "One night I was up here and saw a lamp glowing, then the blinds opened and I could see in, Bridget was there, looking all distressed. She was naked. And someone was hanging sheets and a nightdress out the window. I thought they looked kinda cross." She assumed that Brendan knew about Bridget's problem wetting the bed, especially when she had one of her fits.
"It only lasted a few minutes, then she was pushed out of the room and the lamp went with 'em." 'Pushed' The morose Jemima was certainly putting a negative spin on what could well have been interpreted as an act of kindness after an unfortunate episode of incontinence.
"Arabella thinks we should get a ladder up there and rescue her." she sniffed. "We could at least get up there one night and see if we can peep in or talk to her, see if she's all right. They've probably got her in a straightjacket." She was so angry over the imagined outrages committed upon her vulnerable friend that she didn't notice she'd sworn in front of Brendan. "We'd need to get Miriam's Pa's ladder to do it, and we haven't told her about the plan yet. She's such a big scaredy-cat she'd probably go and blab to her Dad."
Brendan listened to the sordid tale Jemima told of seeing Bridget naked (gulp) and in distress through the window once. Poor thing must have wet the bed over some nightmare. If he'd agreed to marry Bridget when Crabbe had offered, he could have kept Bridget calm, held her through the night.
He leaned on the windowsill again as Jemima discussed Arabella's idea for getting in contact with Bridget. "And what would we do if we did get in? Carry her back down the ladder 'n spirit her away?" Brendan shook his head grimly, imagining trying to carry Bridget down the ladder. "No, when I see her, it'll be in the Wentworth's fancy parlor, as a suitor."
He looked down at Jemima, his face sober. "Don't tell Miriam a thing about Arabella's idea. If her pa gets wind of it and he thinks I'm involved, I don't know that he'd keep me on. And I gotta have this job if I ever want to convince the Wentworths I can take care of Bridget."
"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR!!!"
He leaned on the windowsill again as Jemima discussed Arabella's idea for getting in contact with Bridget. "And what would we do if we did get in? Carry her back down the ladder 'n spirit her away?" Brendan shook his head grimly, imagining trying to carry Bridget down the ladder.
"Well, like I say: it is one of Arabella's ideas." as if that explained the madness of the plan. It did.
"No, when I see her, it'll be in the Wentworth's fancy parlor, as a suitor."
Awe at the unbelievably handsome man's steadfast ardour toward his snatched away sweetheart, and determination to court her properly in her straightened circumstances, vied with Jemima's natural jealousy that her friend was the object of Brendan's desire, not her. Oh, if only she had ginger hair, a wooden leg, an addled brain and a body so mutilated by injury that it needed an iron ribbed corset to keep it straight, perhaps Mr Connolly would fall in love with her instead.
Not that Jemima didn't have her own physical deformities to contend with, even if they weren't so extreme. Like the coat of dark unsightly hair that covered much of her body and had been the source of much childhood ridicule by bullies at school like Anæsthesia Orr, Zenobia Matthews and her own brother Hector. Well, the tables were turned as far as Hector was concerned, now she knew his weird little secret.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch.
He looked down at Jemima, his face sober. "Don't tell Miriam a thing about Arabella's idea. If her pa gets wind of it and he thinks I'm involved, I don't know that he'd keep me on. And I gotta have this job if I ever want to convince the Wentworths I can take care of Bridget."
"Don't worry, Mister Connolly, I'll fix Arabella... got ways of doing that." she said arcanely "We might want Miriam's help for something else, though. If you're going courting, you'll need a decent suit of clothes, to look respectable like." she didn't imagine there was anything like that in his scanty luggage "For some reason Mr Orr used to keep a change of clothes here, he was just a little bit taller and bulkier than you, so if me and Miriam could get your measurements, we could could take in his old suit so it fit you perfectly: it'd look tailor made." she offered.
Jemima was a dab hand with a pair of pinking shears and Mr Pettigrew's fancy new 'sewing machine', but Miriam Kaufmann was a positive miracle worker with a needle and thread.
"... and with a suit like that on, you'd look... even nicer than you do now." she added, looking shyly at the floor.
"Don't worry, Mister Connolly, I'll fix Arabella... got ways of doing that." Jemima said arcanely "We might want Miriam's help for something else, though. If you're going courting, you'll need a decent suit of clothes, to look respectable like."
Brendan snapped his fingers. "You're right. I only got one other shirt, and it don't even come near looking respectable."
Looking respectable was something that could only be done with waistcoats and suit coats, and he only had one everyday waistcoat. Uncertainty made his stomach turn. What would happen if he turned up at the Wentworths looking like his normal self? As nice as Mrs. Wentworth had seemed, she was rich. And rich people put lots of stock in appearances and style, something he was severely lacking in.
"For some reason Mr Orr used to keep a change of clothes here, he was just a little bit taller and bulkier than you, so if me and Miriam could get your measurements, we could could take in his old suit so it fit you perfectly: it'd look tailor made." she offered.
"Really?" His eyes lit up. Here was the answer to all of his problems--or at least one of the most immediate ones. "Seein' as Mr. Orr don't need his old suit anymore, can I keep it?"
"... and with a suit like that on, you'd look... even nicer than you do now." she added, looking shyly at the floor.
Brendan grinned at the compliment. Funny how when other girls complimented him, he might have felt something. His chest might have swelled up in pride. But Jemima was different. He almost didn't think of her as a girl.
"Shut up," he said lightly, still grinning. "How soon can you and Miriam have the suit done?"
"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR!!!"
"Really?" His eyes lit up. Here was the answer to all of his problems--or at least one of the most immediate ones. "Seein' as Mr. Orr don't need his old suit anymore, can I keep it?"
Jemima thought. Well, she supposed it really belonged to the dead man's cheated-on wife now, but then again... "We got our weekly séance on Sunday at Mrs Orr's, I'll ask for permission to keep it then." she said, but didn't explain if that meant she would ask Mrs Orr or her late husband.
"... and with a suit like that on, you'd look... even nicer than you do now." she added, looking shyly at the floor.
Brendan grinned at the compliment. Funny how when other girls complimented him, he might have felt something. His chest might have swelled up in pride. But Jemima was different. He almost didn't think of her as a girl.
"Shut up," he said lightly, still grinning.
Jemima grinned at the floor shyly.
"How soon can you and Miriam have the suit done?"
Hmm, by the weekend: if we could have all day tomorrow working on it, but we gotta work at the drapers. Now, if we could use Mr Pettigrew's cutting table and shears and... and, well, me and Miriam are more used to working on ladies' dresses... we might need some advice from Mister Pettigrew as well, he's got a lot more experience in..." something became painfully obvious. "Brendan, if you want to be able to call on Bridget at the Wentworth's looking half decent anytime soon, we'd best get our lariat around Mr Pettigrew. What are you doing straight after work tomorrow?" she asked, her little brain clicking and whirring.
Lord, Arabella's brain fever for plans and schemes seemed to be catching!
Brendan wouldn't have assumed that Jemima had a quick mind--or much of a mind at all--but her idea about taking in Mr. Orr's old suit and getting Miriam to help wasn't half bad. The only problem was the time it would take, and according to Jemima it would take a while. To have Bridget so close, to have the hope of the suit to aid in his case with the Wentworth's, and then to find out that said suit wouldn't just be done in the snap of a fingers was infuriating.
But Brendan counted to 10 in his head and kept listening. He didn't understand everything Jemima was saying, but knew it was sewing terminology, so he just tried to get the general idea of what she was saying.
"Brendan, if you want to be able to call on Bridget at the Wentworth's looking half decent anytime soon, we'd best get our lariat around Mr Pettigrew. What are you doing straight after work tomorrow?"
Now there was language Brendan understood. Getting the lariat around Mr. Pettigrew meant getting started, getting him involved. The sooner they roped Mr. Pettigrew, the sooner he could see Bridget.
"Goin' to see Mr. Pettigrew, sounds like." He grinned and moved away from the window, nudging his saddle into the corner with one foot. "But why do I gotta come along?"
"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR!!!"
"Goin' to see Mr. Pettigrew, sounds like." He grinned and moved away from the window, nudging his saddle into the corner with one foot. "But why do I gotta come along?"
He would find out soon enough: meanwhile there was Jemima's mother to dodge.
Brendan managed to avoid anything too hair-raising with the Queen of the Boarding House Cougars that evening; though it was notable that the newcomer received steak for supper whereas all the other boarders at table got rissoles, and that Mrs Wigfall made a big fuss of him. He was placed near the head of the table next to her and her previous favourite, Lt. Greene was moved one place down.
"Didn't know 2nd Lieutenants could be demoted" he commented to Hector "Guess that makes me a sergeant now".
_____________________________________
It was 5 O Clock and the drapers was closing, but just as Jemima was about to turn the sign on the door, Surprise Surprise! A man carrying a suit walked in.
"Oh, we're just closing!" Mr Pettigrew shouted from the back of the store, behind the mysterious velvet curtain which seperated storefront from 'in back'.
"It's just Mister Connelly! Me and Miriam are going to our house to help fit him into his suit?" Jemima yelled back in a stagey voice.
A balding, ginger disembodied haired head appeared through the curtains, looking like rubicund St John the Baptist.
"What's that? Mr Connelly?" he asked, suddenly more animated and cheerful than he had been all day.
"Why, Mister Connelly, what an immense pleasure!" he gushed, coming through the curtains and shaking Brendan's hand. He gently relieved the handsome Mississippian of his load. "Now let me see this..." he said, casting a serious professional eye over the garments, before standing back and looking Brendan up and down.
"Hmmphh!" he said, turning to Jemima and Miriam. "You girls will never manage this in a month of Sundays! Now, Sir, when, and for what, do you require these here suit alterations to be ready" he asked.
"He's got a romantic tryst with Miss Harrison on Sunday!" put in Jemima.
"A romantic tryst?!" echoed Mr Pettigrew
"On Sunday" completed Jemima.
"Hmmm." Wus considered. It was a long time since he had worked as a gentleman's outfitter, back in New Orleans, but he still had the skills and he possessed the knowledge of the latest fashions. "All right, now you listen here Mr Connelly, I will take in this suit for you, and I shall have it ready for Sunday. But I will need exact measurement. Please step into the back and take off your outer garments, Miss Kaufmann and I will be in presently to take your measurements. Miss Wigfall, kindly continue to close up the store." he instructed.
@[Wayfarer] Bailey
Miriam liked working at the dress shop, Mr. Pettigrew was a good employer, kind, and she was paid regularly without fail. But it was closing time! And now out of nowhere she was going to have to stay late and help with a man's suit. Never one to complain out loud, it just was not in her quiet nature (Arabella said she was too mousey), she heard Mr. Pettigrew mention her name. Giving a dramatic sigh, for she would probably be late for supper tonight and Mother was fixing one of her favorites, the young brunette entered the room with the others.
Yes, Mr. Connelly, she knew of him more than actually knew him. Arabella had told her many things about the handsome young man. Like how where he was, it seemed people died like flies. But he never got blamed or arrested, so it must just be bad luck. Especially for the dead folk. Oh and Arabella had given her far too much vivid detail on this man's one night's affair with Caroline, the saloon singer. But perhaps the most upsetting, Ara informed her this man had laid with poor addled and damaged Bridget just about the time her guardian killed himself. Accidentally. Miriam tried to assure herself this was all coming from Ara. Now as dearly as she loved Ara, Miriam knew to take Arabella's gossip with more than a grain of salt.
"Yes, Mr. Pettigrew?" was all she announced.