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Bailey

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About Bailey

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  1. Oh, dear, what if he thought she had been staring through the whole service? She wanted to say something, but that would almost make things worse. And should she correct him? She wasn't married anymore, so to speak, but her proper title was Mrs., so maybe she should say something. In the end, propriety won out over her desire to seem young and...well, desirable. "Mrs. Dietrich, technically. But I will accept Miss. It makes me feel young." She smiled, and whenever she did that, one corner of her mouth turned up a little higher than the other, which gave her otherwise serene face a spark of mischief. She continued, "a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Redmond. And you, Wyatt." She gave the boy a smile even though he didn't seem particularly interested in her or seem pleased to meet her. What was wrong with children in this town? First the dark-haired girl was harrumphing about her dropping the hymnbooks and how this boy was practically ignoring her. Maybe that was the way children were. But Aurelian was asking her a question about her purpose in town. Her eyes flitted away from Wyatt and the dark-haired girl back to him. "Both," she answered quickly, then realized that that sounded odd and laughed. "I had planned for this just to be a stopping point on my way back east. But money is tight and then I met Emeline...just yesterday, fact, when I came in on the stage. I've decided to stay here, at least until I can get a little money saved up."
  2. Brendan couldn't help smiling a little when Bridget laughed, but he was still upset. He slid the peignoir over her hands and arms and was about to pull it closed when she asked why he was sad. What was he supposed to tell her? He was sad because of her "freckle?" That wouldn't do. He didn't want to lie to her like Crabbe did. And then he realized he didn't have to. He wasn't so much sad as he was angry. "I'm not sad." He flashed her a smile so she could see he was telling the truth. Before he could say anything else, she threw her arms around him. She was still naked underneath that silky bed jacket he hadn't had time to tie shut and she was pressed up very close to him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably as he. He had never been in a situation like this before. Bridget was mature enough that the sight and feel of her body should have stirred his desire. But feeling desire for her almost felt wrong. He wasn't sure what he was feeling at the moment. He moved his arms up to pull the edges of her robe together and felt for the tie. He wasn't sure how she would react to him touching her. "Don't want you to get cold," he mumbled. It was July. There was no way she could be cold.
  3. Lucinda laughed a little bit at Emeline's joke, but it was a sort of humor that she didn't quite understand. Wouldn't the grizzly come out of the fight looking less hurt? Emeline's laughter and attitude was contagious, though, and Lucinda found her spirits brightened considerably more than they had been in a long time. And speaking of attitude, Emeline had a set way she preferred to do the dishes, so Lucinda though she should try it that way. Personally she would have rinsed off each dish as she went, but it never hurt to try something new. As she sprinkled the soap flakes in the water and swished them around with her hand to make the most of the bubbles, she marveled at how much Emeline seemed to know about animals and how they defended themselves...or was she talking about people? Maybe it worked the same way for both people and animals. Emeline's question startled her slightly, but she looked up from the dish she was washing and shook her head. "Good heavens, no. I sold Francis's rifle and pistol this spring, having used neither of them the whole winter." She could hear the pride in her voice and remembered that she would not have been quite as hungry during the winter if she had used the rifle to try to go hunting.
  4. Brendan was torn between staying with Bridget and hearing whatever Crabbe had to say. It was clearly something that Bridget didn't need to hear. Maybe it could wait. He made a shooing motion with his hand to Caroline and watched as she and the two men left. He would talk with Bridget for just a little bit and then go down. The first thing to do was to get her covered up, though. For some reason neither Crabbe or Charlie had done that. He didn't want to stare at her anymore than he already had. It was odd how Crabbe's demeanor had changed so quickly, but maybe he just wanted Bridget to do things for herself instead of relying on him and Charlie. Well, Crabbe and Charlie were gone now, so he would do it himself. He reached over and draped the peignoir over Bridget's body. "Hey, sit up so's I can get this back on you." He tapped her shoulder so she would sit up.
  5. What was she to do? She was all right, and she didn't really want to accept his help. But...it would be the ladylike thing to do, and it would give her the chance to talk to the talk dark stranger who looked so much like her husband. What was wrong with her? She was thinking like a school girl. Wintering alone was obviously detrimental to her mind. She shook her head and offered an embarrassed smile to the man. "Oh, thank you." She took his outstretched hand and pulled herself up, trying to make it seem like she actually needed his help while also trying not to pull him down while she got up. She could have managed it by herself, although his help did make her ascent seem more graceful. "I believe I'm all right." She swatted her skirts with her free hand and then realized that she was still holding his hand. What a perfect time to introduce herself. "I'm sorry for staring. You look like...someone I used to know. My name is Lucinda Dietrich." With that, she shook his hand firmly and met his eyes, trying to ignore the mutterings of the young girl who was picking up the hymnbooks she had dropped. She should really thank the girl, but she had more important things on her mind, and the girl seemed not to be terribly happy about her presence for some reason. Her ears caught the word strangers but nothing else. Oh, dear. That didn't sound good at all.
  6. Crabbe's grim response to Brendan's question made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he entered Bridget's room. There she was on her bed. He couldn't help smiling even though his nerves were all on edge. "I didn't come to see no freckle," he whispered to Caroline. Anything he might have said next was forestalled by... Great day in the morning, there was no way he could have prepared himself for that. He stared, because how could he not stare? There was a naked girl in front of him. But the beauty of Bridget's left side was overshadowed by the horror of her right side. He couldn't take his eyes off of it. If she had been a horse, she would have been useless. And she would have been dead by now. He was frozen, unable to do anything but stare. He did notice Crabbe's tears, but they only added to the horror of the scene. But when Bridget turned over, that was when he started to be able to think. Someone had beaten her. His Bridget. That protective feeling he'd gotten about her at the dance came flooding back in full force. "I… I apologise for this unwarranted display of emotion, Mr. Connolly. Me and Charlie, I guess we think we’re used to it but … well when you show it to someone who ain’t…” "What'd you have to go and do that for?" he demanded gruffly. Part of his anger was at whoever had done this to Bridget, and part was at Crabbe for showing it to him. No one wanted to see a thing like that. And Crabbe had lied to Bridget about it. Maybe she really thought it was a freckle, but he knew she was smarter than she looked. Caroline's question was a better one. She wanted to know who had done this to Bridget. And she wanted Bridget covered up again. She was handling it better than he was. He was just shocked. He crossed the room and shoved Crabbe's hand away from Bridget's hair as he knelt by her bedside. His Bridget, he was thinking irrationally. "Hey, Bridg," he said softly, using Crabbe's nickname for her. "Remember me? Remember how we danced together? 'Course you do." He was just talking to have something to say. She obviously wasn't in pain, but he still felt the need to say something comforting to her.
  7. Mature Content: No With: Aurelian Redmond (also possibly Wyatt), and anyone else Location: Kalispell Church When: Sunday, June 20, 1875 Time of Day: After the morning service Lucinda had missed being in church. The sound of all the voices around her joining in harmony with the harmonium (most of the time) was so refreshing. She felt tears come into her eyes once again during the closing hymn, tears of happiness at being able to congregate with people once again. You never knew how much of a blessing fellowship was until you didn't have it for a while. She slid her hymnbook back into the seat of the pew and stood, waiting until there was a path for her to leave. Even though the singing had made her feel like she belonged, after it was finished she felt like a stranger again. There were a few people she recognized from her first night helping Emeline, but she hadn't been officially introduced to anyone yet. She definitely wasn't going to introduce herself to anyone right now, so she stood aimlessly by the edge of the pew with her arms crossed over her red patterned vest, watching the congregation as it dispersed. Her gaze fell on the hymnbooks on her pew and the ones behind her, and she realized that she could be doing something useful while she waited. She walked down the aisle and gathered up the hymnbooks as she came to them, then turned down the next aisle and did the same thing. Her arms were nearly full, but she had room for a few more books, so she decided to cross the aisle and get the books from there, too. As she reached the edge of the pew she caught sight of a man standing across the aisle. Her mouth dropped and she stared at the man. Francis? Her foot thunked against the end of the pew and threw her off balance. A few stray hymnbooks tumbled from her arms as she tumbled, too. A jumble of thoughts ran through her head, the foremost of them being how embarrassing it was going to be picking herself up, how loud noise of the hymnbooks falling to the floor seemed, and just how much like Francis the man across the aisle looked. She hit the floor, bumped her chin on the stack of hymnbooks, and blinked. The man was still there, and he still looked like Francis. Not as much as he had at first glance, but still enough that she couldn't take her eyes off of him. Francis Dietrich
  8. Brendan followed Caroline's suit and chugged his tumbler of whiskey like it was a life-giving elixir. His ancestors had called it "water of life" for a reason. "See… I kinda got the sense from your letter to our Bridg’ that you’re… well, you like her. You know, it was, y’know… kind.” What kind of "like" did Crabbe mean? And was he right? Brendan didn't know. Sure, he liked Bridget, but did he "like" her? He wasn't sure. He bristled a bit at his letter being deemed "kind." Kind was not a word that a cowhand wanted to be associated with, especially at the Evergreen. Maybe being kind to animals was all right, but people? “The thing is, Mr. Connolly… I, I got a request, or a offer, or a, I don’t know what to call it, a deal I suppose. Something I’d like to propose to you but, …” he puffed out his cheeks as if he’d just run a mile. “Pheeewww. I think you need to see something first. Would you come upstairs with me, you too Mundee. It errrr… it’d be good if you could come, too.” An offer? A deal? An invitation upstairs? Brendan glanced at Caroline to see what she thought of Crabbe's invitation. Her nod let him know that everything was all right; as least as far as she knew. But Crabbe's behavior was a little odd, even for as scatterbrained of a man as he seemed to be. Of course, Brendan had never met Crabbe before and had no idea that the man was not actually this scatterbrained. "Sure, I can go with ya then. Yer bein' kinda close lipped though, ain't ya?" Caroline prepared to follow his lead though. "Yeah, ain't ya?" Brendan echoed, clomping up the stairs behind Crabbe. How did the man's invitation upstairs have anything to do with Bridget? And for that matter, where was Bridget? His heart skipped a beat. "Hey, nothin'...nothin's happened to Bridget, has it?"
  9. Lucinda felt for the first time in over a year that she was somewhere where she belonged. She hadn't been raised to work in a kitchen, or even to be in a kitchen at all, but this just felt right. set the dishes in the sink, then primed the pump and started running water in the sink so she could begin washing the dishes. Before she started, she went over to the corner to say hello to Buster, looking back at Emeline as she moved. "Oh, we used to have cats in the barn when I was younger. They were big mean tomcats, not like...oh!" She finally got a good look at Buster and made a surprised and slightly disgusted face. It wasn't that the deformity was horrible, it was just unexpected. Her world had been perfect until she had come west and she was still shocked by her new world sometimes. "He only has one eye!" She looked back at Emeline worriedly. "What happened to him?"
  10. “Eh...pleased to meet you,” Brendan mumbled as Crabbe shook his hand too many times. He wasn’t sure what “inadvertently” was, but it sounded like Crabbe hadn’t meant to read Bridget’s letter. “I’d sure love a drink,” he said as he sat down. If this was a test, he might have just failed. But he didn’t care at the moment because he really did want a drink. He rested the heels of his boots on the rung of the chair and bounced his legs. The waiting was killing him. He wanted to know what was going on in Crabbe’s head. As soon as Caroline accepted Crabbe’s offer of a drink, he couldn’t wait anymore. “So what’s this all about?” He asked finally. “You said somethin’ about my intentions in your letter.”
  11. Brendan glanced at Caroline as they walked. It had been nice of her to read and write for him, but he couldn't help wondering whether he should be dragging her into this or not. Of course, he didn't know exactly what "this" was, which was why he was so on edge. "Hope Bridget didn't get in trouble 'cause of what I said." He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced up at the sky briefly. "I kinda thought Arabella would keep things secret." Of course, there was no reason for Arabella to do that after the way he had treated her that day in Caroline's room. But there was no reason for her to tattle to Crabbe, either, as he assumed she had done. He stopped in front of the funeral parlor (not the new one), hiked up his suspenders, and then jumped the steps up to the door. "Here goes nothin'." He knocked on the door, perhaps a little too forcefully.
  12. A great place to end!
  13. The letter was a very short one, but it packed a punch. Most short letters did, though. Brendan's eyes bugged out as Caroline read the contents of the letter aloud. This was completely unexpected. "Shit," he breathed. He hadn't been serious when he'd replied to Bridget and Arabella's letter. Well, not completely serious, anyway. The part about the kisses had mostly been a joke. Not that he didn't want to kiss Bridget, but did she even know what kissing was? Did she even know Arabella had written a letter that was supposed to be from her in the first place? Caroline's knowledge of Crabbe was helpful, even though it didn't completely set him at ease. Crabbe's letter sounded like something a jealous father with a shotgun in hand would say back home. But of course he wasn't going to admit that he wanted Caroline along in case things went sour. "I ain't nervous," he said grumpily. "But if you want to come along and say hello to Crabbe, you're welcome to." He stretched first his legs and then his arms to get his suddenly-abundant nervous energy out, then jumped up. "He said immediate, didn't he? Who knows how long Arabella's been carryin' that thing around in her pocket? I'm goin' now. You comin'?" With that he headed toward the saloon door before he could lose his nerve.
  14. Lucinda's first thought was that she couldn't accept Emeline's generosity. It had been drilled into her that she should never take charity from anyone and that she would never need to accept charity. But the thing was, no one who taught at finishing school had ever been stranded, practically penniless, out on the fringes of civilization. "Oh, are you...well...thank you." She got up and watched Emeline gather the plates, in awe at her good fortune. "I'm sure I could wait tables passably...as long as no one proposes to me!" she added suddenly with a bright smile. "As for cooking, well, I can keep myself alive but I don't know that anyone else would want to eat what I cook!" She unbuttoned the cuffs of her sleeves and started to roll them up. "Let me take the dishes. I know I can do that."
  15. Brendan had not immediately followed "Bridget's" advice to make friends with Arabella again. Brain fever or not - and he knew Caroline suspected not - the girl had had no call to say things like that. But every time he saw Arabella she always looked at him and Caroline with a hurt expression he had been afraid would haunt him after she found out about Billy's death. But Billy wasn't the thing that was grieving her now. He glanced at Caroline and then back at Arabella, then with a flat stare reminiscent of Jemima Wigfall held his hand out for the letter. But even though his eyes were flat his heart rate was up. Crab was sending him a letter? Maybe Arabella just meant it was from Bridget but was trying to scare him. "Ske-daddle," he said to Arabella with a wave of his hand as he opened up the letter. He didn't wait to see if she actually left, but peered at the writing without any hope of actually reading it. "Well, damn." That was not Arabella's handwriting and it wasn't Bridget's, either. She had told him she couldn't write. "Caroline!" He elbowed her in case she was still paying attention to Arabella and waved the letter. "Read it!"

About Sagas

Sagas of the WIld West is a roleplaying game set in a fictionalized version of the town of Kalispell in Montana territory. Our stories begin in 1875 and are set against the backdrop of actual historical events.Sagas was inspired by the classic television and movie westerns. Our focus is on writing, storytelling and character development.

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