Thread: Desperate Bride (Saul & Chanti)

Weeks passed slower than they had any right to in the following days. Even when Isabel had been there to look after the children, Virgil had made a point to play as much a part in their lives as he could despite the challenges that presented with also making sure to keep up with workloads so nobody could ever say that Pa Garrett was a slacker on his own ranch. So with Isabel's absence, the workload had increased even more. Now Virgil had to rise earlier still, make the breakfast for the children, do his own work about the ranch without he or one of his trusted ranch-hands ever straying out of earshot of the home, make them their regular meals, finish his own work, and stay up even later than before to make sure they were bedded down. Andrew's schooling, which Isabel had always tended to, suffered as a result as well. While Virgil had been painfully aware of how Isabel's absence would personally affect him, it had never even crossed his mind that perhaps it might affect his children more. Andrew had always been perhaps more sullen than some children his age since his mother's death, and with Isabel's absence it was even more pronounced. His smiles were far softer and seemingly less frequent, and it was as if some of the energy which he had once used running around the farmstead had disappeared. Alice was saved from it all by the blissful ignorance of her extreme youth, and to some extent even Andrew was saved in some way from it. Virgil could only be grateful for the ignorance of youth. Though Andrew was never one who had been happy with ignorance. It seemed that when the Lord had deigned what parts of his parents to give the boy, he'd given everything physical of his father's from a strong jaw-line to eyes as clear and blue as the sky over the ocean - and raven-black hair that could be the most disordered mop, much to Isabel's annoyance in cutting and combing it. But that same Lord had been smart enough to realize Virgil's understanding of numbers and ranching wouldn't be enough for the boy and had given his mother's inquisitive and troublesome mind. The kind that asked question and sought answers that made Virgil question at times why they hadn't raised the boy to be seen and not heard. Where has auntie Isabela gone? When will she be back? Who did you send a letter to? Are you replacing auntie Isabela? Is auntie Isabela's family sick like ma'? Those kinds of questions that made days otherwise passing as hard-to-pin and vague memories snap into clarity while in the middle of preparing something close to a good dinner. He would try and avoid them as best he could. Virgil would have liked to say that he was a stranger to lies, but he was all to familiar with them and had an easy enough time distracting the boy or satisfying him with partial truths in the moment. The most exciting relief from it came in a day's hunting, as Virgil had been planning to do as Andrew grew older. It had kept Andrew too busy and quiet to ask those questions, it had gotten him valuable experience in hunting, and they now had a pair of deer for meat and hide if they had need for it. But beyond that and occasional troubles with trying his best to nurture Alice. That was one place where Virgil was distinctly reminded of Isabel's absence. A small blessing came that Alice was just old enough to graduate into thoroughly mashed foods. That was what saved Virgil over the next, slow, weeks. Small, small blessings that kept proper worry and trouble at bay just a little while longer. And just as a nagging worry had formed that perhaps his luck would soon run out arrived, so too did the second of the letters by horseback. A rider covered in dust of the trail and heavily winded from a long journey - trying to beat a train as the letter revealed. The last days crawled. They were uneventful, yes, but that only helped to remind him of long nights in Mexico when the day's march had been finished, and his troops organized. He'd remember those nights with nothing to occupy his busy mind before Isabel. Which would in turn remind him of her absence and the guilt of her touch. Which would bring further pain, remembering Mae, and the grave marker on a hill near the southern field that served as a reminder to the man that family should always be the most pressing and important duty in a man's life. Things that were ignored with swift shots of whiskey at night and busying tasks during the day. And then the day had finally come at last. The more trusted hands would tend to the children in his absence. It wouldn't do to have somebody's future wife tended to by the ranch hands when first arriving in town. Any other man with money to the name might have wanted to avoid sending earth-soiled types to tend to a high-class woman - but Virgil wasn't that detached from those same men. His beard hadn't been as well-trimmed as it could have been in the last few days, before heading into town he'd helped get some of the cows milked, and then had finally gotten the wagon hitched and headed into town. Well, if it isn't Pa Garret gracing our fine establishment! The bartender declared with a broad smile showing tobacco-stained teeth. Virgil gave a smile as he made his way between the tables to the bar, smiling all the way, Its a pleasure as always, Dick. The white-haired old man and owner of the tavern already set to work fetching a glass. Where local men were concerned, Virgil didn't sway from the typical preference for a straight shot of whiskey to supplement the day. And being one of the biggest sources of the local economy meant that no questions had to be raised about when and how a tab or debt would get paid. As much as he tried to be like any other fellow, Virgil realized his lifestyle had perks. Both men took to leaning on the bar, the bartender's arms crossed to support himself and with Virgil keeping himself supported by one hand while the other held his tumbler. What brings you out our way, friend? Figured that the little ones would keep your hair graying, what with that Spanish girl's leavin' you in such a hurry. Virgil was proud of himself that he refrained from flinching, Oh. You know how it is. Business always calls, just sometimes got a different face to it. Dick quirked a brow, Oh? I noticed that rider comin' hell-for-leather into town. Headin' right for your ranch. And it just so happens I read the paper. Do ya' now? I didn't know you needed to read to pour the drinks. Virgil gave his best laugh, slamming back the whiskey to avoid putting his foot in his mouth for a few moments. So you finally found a bold enough gal? Virgil pursed his lips, staring at the empty glass, Yeah. Suppose I did. Dick smiled, Careful, Pa. Woman bold enough to take that offer of your's? She's likely to bowl you right over ifn' you aren't too careful. Both men shared a small laugh. Before Dick pointed lazily out the window. And look there, wouldn't ya? A pretty face from an out-of-town carriage. And the poor girl looks a bit lost. Virgil quickly fished inside his vest. The photograph was there, even though it had been a but crumpled, and one corner had been stained from spilled bourbon a few days ago. But it was still good enough that even from a distance it looked - very close. Her hair wasn't in as tight a bun as in the picture, her skin looked pale as if she'd recently seen a whole string of ghosts, and her dress looked stained from dust. But as he drew closer to the entrance of the saloon, more and more he was sure that she was a dead-set match. By the time he was on the boardwalk, he was sure enough that he hid the photo away inside his vest, and cleared his throat loudly. Mrs. Madden? Rose Madden? That was a curse of being new money. He wasn't quite sure which way would be appropriate to refer to a widowed woman of Rose's obvious class and standing. For the first time in many years, he was legitimately worried. Particularly that he'd somehow caused offense. This was the potential surrogate for his children, after all, and the woman who he would ideally be spending many years ago. Where that was concerned, her beauty was certainly enough to draw his eye even with obvious sleep deprivation. But if she found something personally wrong with him . . . It was at that moment when Virgil was regretting his choice of clothing. Sun-paled trousers and well-worn chaps, a sturdy belt with no less than three heavy-looking pistols on it, and his trusted boots and spurs were hardly the clothes of high class. The pinkish-white button-down shirt he wore, with sleeves down despite the heat to hide away the years old brand on the one arm, worn out vest, and the hat worn as much to keep sun from his eyes as to conceal the accursed gray hairs made him look more like a ranch-hand of the Garrett ranch as opposed to a man rich enough to potentially pay for a two-way trip from the Colorado territories and put adds out in papers as far away as Boston. Money could be a rarity in the territories and Virgil didn't particularly look like he was familiar with it. I'm Virgil. He did his best to smile as he nervously looped his thumbs through the front of his belt, Virgil Garrett? We - exchanged a few letters. And 'exchanged a few letters' was accompanied with an awkward and vague hand motion, I hope your trip wasn't too rough? We can stay for just a while if you're needing time to rest? If not, we could head out to the ranch. I - I brought a wagon. A lady such as yourself likely doesn't ride side-saddle, I figure. Damn his nerves. He never used to ramble. Not unless it was around Mae.