The Bridge

69

“I’m done with being looked after, Allie,” I said. “Really.”

“Nonsense,” Allie called from the kitchen.

“Not nonsense,” Virgil said. “If Everett wants to be left alone, leave him alone.”

After I left the resting room above Doc Crumley’s, Allie had insisted I stay with her and Virgil. The bullet I received from Ballard was a.45 that Crumley took out of me. Crumley said if it’d been an inch to the left it would have been the last train.

I was weak from the loss of blood, and got around a little slow due to the pain, but was on the mend.

Allie had a special down-filled cot she borrowed from one of her gal friends with the ladies’ social. She placed it near the fireplace and demanded I stay with them until the snow was all melted and it was no longer muddy.

Allie came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a chunk of bread.

“Everett needs continued rest,” Allie said. “And my special nourishment.”

“Hell, Allie,” I said. “That’s pretty much all I have been doing, is eating and sleeping.”

“Well, that’s just the way it is,” Allie said. “It’s not every day I get to take care of somebody.”

“By God, not true, Allie,” Virgil said. “You take care of me every day.”

“Oh, pooh,” Allie said, swinging her tail like a cat as she walked back to the kitchen. “Nobody takes care of Virgil Cole... ’Sides, Everett likes to be looked after by me.”

She poked her head back out the kitchen door.

“Don’t you, Everett?”

I picked up my spoon and smiled.

“I appreciate what you do for me, Allie,” I said. “I certainly do.”

“See, Virgil,” Allie said. “Everett knows the meaning of appreciation.”

Allie tucked back in the kitchen.

“Only so much appreciation a man needs,” Virgil said. “Since Everett left that halfway room above Doc Crumley’s office all you been doing is looking after him. I think Everett might have just had his fill of appreciation.”

“And thank that Jesus on the wall of that halfway room above Doc Crumley’s office,” Allie said, as she came back into the living room with a glass of milk, “that Everett’s come back this halfway of that room and not the other half so I can take proper care of his recovery. Here you go, Everett.”

“I will say, Allie,” I said, “I’ve had enough milk to last me a lifetime.”

Allie pinched my cheek.

“Oh, moo,” she said with a giggle. “Drink it. It’s good for you, help you get your strength back.”

“Quite frankly,” I said, “I’m looking forward to having a nudge or two of that Kentucky.”

“Oh, Everett,” Allie said.

We heard footsteps on the porch followed by a musical rat-a-tat-tat rap on the door.

Allie leaned over me and looked out the window.

“It’s some little fellow in a checkered suit wearing a hatbox derby,” Allie said.

Virgil got up and answered the door.

“Might you be Marshal Virgil Cole?” the man said with a crisp British inflection.

“I might,” Virgil said. “And you?”

I leaned forward in my chair to have a look at the little man in the brown-checkered suit.

“Sebastian Winthrop,” he said.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Winthrop?”

“I was wondering if I might have a few words with you,” Sebastian said.

“Words about what?” Virgil said.

Sebastian leaned forward on his toes, looking past Virgil to Allie and me.

“Well,” he said, glancing at Allie and me through the door, “it is, perhaps, a rather delicate matter.”

“What sort of delicate matter?” Virgil said.

“Um, well,” he said. “It’s a matter regarding the Rio Blanco Bridge project.”

Virgil looked back to me, then opened the door for him to enter.

“Come on in,” Virgil said.

“Why, thank you,” he said.

He entered and removed his derby. Virgil closed the door behind him.

Sebastian nodded to Allie and me and smiled.

“This here is Allison French,” Virgil said. “And my deputy marshal, Everett Hitch.”

“Sebastian Winthrop,” he said with a click of his heels.