The bulk of this story occurs several years before the manga or anime begin.
Note: I do not own Trigun, "Vash the Stampede," "Doc," or "Milly Thompson": they belong to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow.
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The Second Man
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Chapter 10: Promises
Year 0092 month 2 day 17, after nightfall
I had trouble sleeping that night. There were far too many thoughts racing around in my head for sleep to be possible.
Oh, I was tired. It had been what I've often heard called "a long day" ... partly from having so many things packed into it, and partly from spending several hours entertaining a very energetic young toddler.
I'd made liberal use of games like "can't reach," so that Danny did more moving around than I did. Even so, by the time that Fred came to collect his little brother, I'd felt almost as ready for a nap as Danny had.
Yet those new ideas that Vash had talked about – they were the most difficult part.
The man seemed to honestly believe that he was a Plant – and over 100 years old, no less! That was crazy! It was absolutely, positively, completely insane!
… yet Vash did not behave like someone whose mind was lost. Aside from his claims about his age and his ancestry, he talked as rationally as anybody else.
In some ways, he talked more rationally than most people. This was especially true when he talked about love and peace. Vash never quoted directly from the Bible, but he sure spoke of the same principles in very practical terms. His clear, straightforward explanations about how to show love in everyday life, and how to live peacefully, could put many preachers' sermons to shame.
And, unlike several preachers I'd heard about, Vash fully practiced what he preached. He made no exceptions for himself. Nobody else I knew had ever "turned the other cheek" as thoroughly as he had! Even though he got badly hurt, he hadn't fought back.
Come to think of it, Vash's blood was every bit as red as mine. He got hurt, and suffered, the same as any other man. When the doctors had operated on him, they hadn't found anything unusual – if they had, we would all have known about it by now.
What should I believe? What could I believe? I didn't know.
Maybe, during his beating, Vash had gotten a knock on the head which confused some of his memories. Hank and Mildred had both said that he and the murderer looked a lot alike, so maybe the other man really was his brother.
Maybe his parents were Plant engineers, who died in some kind of explosive mishap, and Rem had taken him in afterward... That might explain some of his affinity for Plants, especially if his adoptive mother had also been a Plant engineer, mightn't it?
But that didn't explain his ideas about the Great Fall, nor the manner in which he said he could speak with Yetta and other Plants.
It was all so confusing!
I wrestled with such thoughts, without drawing a finger's width closer to any solution.
I heard Dusty leave his room and visit the restroom, and then return. After awhile, I made my own visit to the restroom.
However, tending that need did not help me to sleep. I went back to my bed and flopped down. Again I found myself quietly listening to the crickets, and trying to make sense out of all the many strange things that Vash said and did.
Unfortunately, with my weary mind, I couldn't find a way to make any sense out of it. Since I couldn't put it out of my mind, sleep fled far from me.
I was just beginning to think about lighting my lamp, and reading something to distract myself (which might, possibly, help me to forget these imponderables long enough to sleep), when I heard a match struck in the room across the hall.
I sat up and looked through the doors as Vash lit the lamp on his bedside table. I watched in stunned silence as he took off his pajama top and began putting on his outfit with the 1001 buckles and straps.
It wasn't until he'd finished putting his chest-piece on, and he began untying the drawstring that held his pajama bottoms cinched around his waist, that I regained the power of movement and speech.
I lurched across the hallway as he stood up, and threw my arms around his shoulders.
"No!" I said, trying to keep my voice down to avoid waking Dusty. "You can't leave, not yet! You're not healed enough yet!"
I felt Vash catch his pajama bottoms before they could fall much, pull them back into place, re-tie the drawstring, and then, slowly, put his arms around my shoulders.
"I can't stay, Martha," he said softly. "I told you why. Even if I hadn't, I think you always knew that I would have to leave here some day. You're smart enough to figure that out."
"But you can barely walk," I protested, "you still have to lean on me. You couldn't get far, or do anything about that other man - not as you are now. You need to heal more, first!"
"If I can't walk, I'll crawl," he said. He spoke gently, but I could still feel an incredible depth of determination in his voice and words.
"Not yet," I repeated, clinging to him even more tightly, "and not without even saying good-bye! You're the best friend I've ever had – please, I can't lose you, not so soon! I just lost Mildred..."
Unable to suppress my feelings while I was so tired, I started crying. "Please..."
He was silent as I sobbed against his shoulder. He gently patted my shoulder as he continued hugging me. When my sobs eventually began to subside, he sighed.
"I'll stay just a little longer," he said. "But then I really must go."
"Thank you," I said.
I backed out of the hug, embarrassed, and wiped at my eyes with my pajama sleeve.
"I know you can't stay here forever," I said sadly. "I understand that you need to stop that other man from hurting people. But you have to be healthier, first. You're still hurting. I can see that your movements are still painfully stiff, and ... and ... and I can't bear the thought of you collapsing again, somewhere out in the desert, like you did in our jail cell, but with nobody there to help you."
I sniffled and wiped at my eyes again. He was silent.
"Maybe," I said more softly, "someday, if you find yourself in this area again, maybe you could stop by for a visit? Even if you couldn't stay long, it would be so nice to see you again... even if it's only for a little while..."
"It could be a very long time before I pass this way again," he said, very softly. "The only one still here, from any of my prior visits, was Mildred. She was about Danny's age, the last time I was here. I wasn't even sure if I recognized her, until she said her name. She didn't remember me at all."
I looked up, raising my gaze from the floor, to see his face. I was convinced by his expression, and by the manner in which he spoke those words, that his intent was to tell me the truth.
Mildred had been 80-something when she died. I remembered her saying that he'd asked her if she liked to be called "Milly." I'd wondered how it occurred to him to ask about that. I'd guessed that he probably knew another "Mildred" who liked to be called "Milly."
If he had known Mildred, as a child, then it was small wonder that he cried as much as any of us at the combined funeral. Maybe he'd known a few of our other dead, too, and that explained his tears when he found them...
I shook myself, realizing that I was beginning to think as if he might actually be more than a century old. That was impossible!
Yet he spoke so reasonably... he believed what he was saying, I was sure of that much.
But it couldn't be true! I felt terribly confused.
Then an idea came to me... I think that I will always feel mildly ashamed of that idea, or at least I'll be ashamed of how I acted on it. He'd come into our village wearing that odd leather outfit with all its many buckles and straps... I thought of it as having 1001, but I hadn't actually counted. When planning to leave us, he was putting on those same clothes.
"Can I help you get out of that, and back into your pajamas?" I said. "It doesn't look very comfortable to sleep in. You'll need all the rest you can get, to help your body heal."
"I.." he began, but then he swayed just enough to lose his balance.
I stepped forward, reflexively putting my weight on my good foot, and caught him before he could fall. "Careful!" I cautioned. "This is exactly why you have to stay here at least a little longer, whether you like to do it or not."
"If I didn't need to go stop him," Vash said, as I slowly lowered him until he could sit on his bed, "I would not be in any hurry to go."
"I hope that means I haven't annoyed you so much that you're eager to get as far away from me as possible?" I said, only half-joking, as I let go of him.
I started unfastening his buckles. As before, he was docile under my hand.
"Yes," he said gently. "Or, if you weren't needed so badly here, I might take you to the village where Doc, and the few other people who call me 'family,' all live."
"Humph," I said. "You're teasing me, again. Nobody here has any need for me."
"Danny, at least, would miss you terribly," he said. "In fact, I think most of the children would. And you would miss them."
I winced a little, but I stayed quiet. I had indeed missed the children. I hadn't realized it until Danny came to me after church, wanting to be picked up.
"The children would forget me sooner than this village will forget you," I said softly.
"This village has already forgotten me once," he said. "They will forget me again."
"I won't," I said stubbornly, "nor will anyone else, not as long as I'm around to remind them."
"And you'll do that without ever saying my name?" he said. He sounded playful, yet also curious.
"Of course I will," I said. "And, in the process, they will remember both 'the second man' and the lesson that's connected with him."
"Another reason why I shouldn't take you away to another village," he said seriously. Then, in a lighter tone, he added, "Besides, I shouldn't take as much time as that long of a detour would require."
"You'd really take me to your family?" I said, half teasing, half skeptical.
"If a number of things were different," he said sadly, "I would consider it."
"You called Yetta your sister," I said. "Why did you introduce me to her?"
"You are both lonely," he said. "Becoming friends could be good for both of you."
"Hmm," I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say.
We were both quiet as I finished unbuckling his leather chest-piece. He still wore a bandage around his lower ribs. I couldn't see any red on it, but I was still concerned.
"How's your side doing?" I asked. "All the activity with Danny earlier, and then wrestling your way into that chest piece... those things must have pulled at it some."
"It hurts, but it's healing," he said.
As he put his pajama top back on, I gathered up the various pieces of his leather outfit. I put the chest-piece over my left arm, and then the pants, and then the sleeves, and then the boots and finally the gloves.
"You should probably blow out your light and get some sleep," I said gently. "I'll see you in the morning." I turned slightly toward the chairs, but I didn't put anything down.
"Okay," he said, looking at me as if he suspected what I had in mind. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," I said.
I stood where I was, in his room near his doorway, until he blew out his light. When that was done, I turned and walked through the hallway into my own room. I carefully lowered his leathers onto my bed, and then I flopped down beside them.
I held still, listening quietly to the sound of his breathing, until it grew deep and even again. As soon as I was convinced that he slept, I got up as quietly as I could and slowly closed my door.
When the door was finally closed and latched, I lit my own lamp. I sat on my bed and stared at his leathers long enough to take a few deep breaths.
If I put those borrowed clothes under my bed, he'd be sure to find them. That was far too traditional of a place for a teen-age girl to hide something. My underwear drawers were also out, for the same reason. I had to do better than that.
I briefly considered putting his borrowed outfit into one of the unused bedrooms, but I discarded that idea, too. I wanted to know, and have an opportunity to talk him out of it, if he went after that outfit with intent to leave again before he was fully well.
I looked around my tiny bedroom and sighed. There was a distinct shortage of places to conceal anything. There were a few different places where I might conceal only the boots, or the gloves, or the sleeves, but... Suddenly, I realized that putting different pieces into different places would be better than concealing them all in a single location. It should slow him down, if he got in a hurry to run off again.
I quietly picked up his gloves, hobbled over to my sock drawer, opened it, and put them in. I took his boots and pushed them under my chest of drawers, behind my own shoes. I put his sleeves under my mattress (but not under the bed).
I carefully moved quietly, since I didn't want to wake either man who slept in the house. I hobbled to my closet. In a back corner was a small, half-hidden attic space. Many houses would have simply nailed that small space shut. Instead, my parents had made it into a place for one of my older sisters to conceal her treasures, years before I was born.
I pulled the closet door open, and pushed aside my clothes. I got down on my knees and undid the unobtrusive latch to that small attic cupboard-like space. I stood up, pulled down a spare blanket from the shelf above the clothes, and took it back to my bed. I carefully folded his pants and chest-piece, and wrapped them in the blanket. Then I put the bundle containing his largest leather pieces into that partially-concealed cupboard.
When the cupboard door was safely shut, I returned everything in the closet to how it had been. I closed the closet, working the latch silently, and looked around my room. It looked much as it always did. There was nothing visible to indicate how my room now held a secret.
However, I felt it in my heart. My conscience was already troubling me.
I tried to silence the nagging voice of my conscience, by thinking about how much this was for his own good. I blew out my lamp, and then slowly and carefully reopened my door. I set it wide, as it had been.
As quietly as possible, I hobbled the few steps to my bed, and then listened. Vash's breathing still sounded deep and even, so he probably still slept.
Relieved, I stretched out on my bed again.
I don't know how long I lay there pondering the many new ideas that Vash represented, or fighting with my own guilt. Eventually, exhaustion overcame both my confusion and my conscience, and I fell asleep.
…
Year 0092 month 2 day 18
The next morning, I didn't wake until breakfast arrived.
I heard the knock on the front door downstairs, and nearly panicked. Through my open door, as I closed it, I saw that Vash's bed was neatly made and he wasn't on it. However, to my relief, I also saw that his bag was still resting in its usual place on the floor.
As I scrambled to choose clothes and get dressed, I heard a masculine voice downstairs. It sounded more like Vash than like Dusty. Had I truly been so deeply asleep that I'd not heard him go downstairs? I must have been, since I began to hear Dusty moving around in his room.
I shed my pajamas, and pulled on a pair of jeans as quickly as I could. I took an "over the shoulder boulder holder" out of my drawer, briefly lamented the loss of the sister who most frequently used to call it that, and then I wriggled into it. I hastily grabbed a shirt from another drawer, and pulled it onto first my left arm, and then my right.
I heard Dusty's steps going past my door and then down the stairs, as I buttoned my shirt.
When I opened my sock drawer, I was reminded of my last act before falling asleep last night. I offered up a silent prayer requesting forgiveness as I chose a pair of socks. I carefully avoided knocking Vash's gloves out of the drawer, and pushed it closed quickly.
With the aid of the sock-helper, I got fresh socks onto my feet. I couldn't help thinking of Sally, and Fred, thanks to Vash's questions yesterday morning. I pushed those thoughts aside as I opened my door and headed for downstairs. I dared not hurry on the stairs, as I'd be of no use to anyone if I hurt myself.
"Good morning," I said, as I walked through the doorway into the kitchen.
"Good morning," said Mrs. Wood.
"Good morning," said Lily Wood, a woman of 20 who had the misfortune of owning a name that was prettier than her face. She was almost excessively average-looking, though she was nearly as good at cooking as her mother was.
"Humph," said Dusty.
"Good morning," Vash said softly, and almost sadly.
Vash's face was mostly calm, but his eyes spoke volumes. His eyes showed more pain than they had when he was physically hurt. His expressive eyes looked much as they had when he spoke of Rem, or his brother.
The expression in his eyes pierced my heart. I feared that I might begin crying right there in front of everybody. I pressed my fist against my mouth, and held still outwardly while I struggled inwardly.
There wasn't a single thing that I could say or do to make things right between us, not while Dusty and the Woods were in the house.
The others were all looking at the table, as they began to sit down around it (Vash was holding the chair for Mrs. Wood, and Dusty was doing the same for Lily), but Vash was looking at me.
I hurried toward the chair waiting for me, blinking back tears, and tried to look my apology at him. I think he understood, because he lowered and then raised his head in what might have been a slow nod.
But his eyes still had that wounded look.
Another meal passed, during which I scarcely heard the conversation and barely tasted my food. Mrs. Wood's cheese blintzes were a rare treat, something that I usually enjoyed tremendously. She knew just how to fry Thomas-bacon strips to perfect crispiness, too.
Unfortunately, I was too busy trying to think of the best way to apologize to Vash to enjoy any of it. Even though I wasn't finding the words, I was impatient for them to leave so that I could at least try! No matter how much I blundered over my words, at least that would be better than sitting, helpless, while he hurt from something that I had done.
Each second felt like it lasted minutes. Each minute felt like it lasted hours upon hours. Ten minutes felt like an eternity. Would they never go? Didn't they know there was a harvest to be gathered in?
I knew in my head that the clock was not moving any more slowly than normal. My heart, however, refused to accept the evidence offered by my mind.
As with all things, in worlds affected by time, that breakfast eventually came to an end. The dishes got washed, and the Woods left (followed not long after by Dusty) to help with the harvest.
The instant the door closed behind Dusty, I turned to Vash and put my arms around his shoulders. I buried my face on his collarbone. The tears I'd been fighting to hold in all morning came flowing out so hard and fast that, for a time, I could barely speak.
"I'm sorry!" I sobbed, over and over again.
I guess I surprised him. At least, I hope that was the reason why he didn't put his arms around my shoulders right away. Thankfully, he did return my hug after I'd said "sorry" a few times.
When I got enough control of myself to step back away from him, I was half-afraid to look at his face. I didn't know if I could bear to see him still looking so hurt.
"Did you think I lied, Martha?" he said sadly. "I thought you trusted me more than that."
"I do trust you!" I said, my gaze instinctively moving to his face. "I was only worried that you'd try to leave again, before you were healed. As soon as you're better, I will give your clothes back. I promise!"
He looked doubtful.
"I won't like it," I admitted, looking downward again, "but I will do it. In fact, I'll give most of it back to you right now, if that's what you want."
"Martha," he said sadly.
My gaze chanced to linger on his knees, and I saw something that made several apparently unrelated memories suddenly come together in my mind. The combination told me something that I could scarcely believe I'd overlooked.
"You've been walking more stiffly than before the funeral," I said softly, "even with this many days for your side to heal. You should be back to roughly the same condition that you were in then, if only your side was hurt. You also hurt your knee, didn't you? That's why you're still having so much difficulty walking, isn't it?"
He sighed. "Yes," he said softly. "It was becoming more difficult to conceal the limp."
"I'm so sorry," I said, fighting back tears again. "If I'd only been paying more attention, I might have seen her coming. I might have dodged, and you wouldn't have had to..."
"It's all right, Martha," he said. "It did some good. Thanks to that, Ike will be watching over you. He will still be here to take care of you, even after I've gone away."
I felt like I might cry again. I put my good hand over my mouth, and clenched my eyes closed in an effort to hold in tears. I shook my head, unable to say how much more I'd like for him to watch over me than Ike. I couldn't speak, right then, without sobbing.
I felt his arms around my shoulders again. I put my left arm around him, just under his arms. I kept my right hand over my mouth, still trying to regain some composure.
"Martha," he said softly, "do you trust me?"
"Yes," I managed to say, barely above a whisper, "with almost everything."
I felt him move slightly, and I could almost feel his curiosity.
"What don't you trust me with?" he asked, sounding completely puzzled.
"Taking care of yourself," I said, still trying to avoid giving way to the sobs that I felt pressing against my throat. I tried to make it sound like I was teasing, as I added, "I've seen your scars, remember?"
It worked better than I'd dared to hope. He chuckled.
"I guess you have a point, there," he said softly.
"Can you forgive me, then?" I managed to ask, before I had to shut my mouth again.
"I'm not angry with you, Martha," he said gently.
"But you're upset," I said. "I've hurt you... I never meant to, but I did..."
I couldn't keep the sobs down any longer. Again, I cried like a baby with my face buried against his shoulder.
"Faithful are the wounds of a friend," he said, with that slight sing-song tone that people get in their voices when they are quoting something. Then he added, in a more normal tone, "That kind heal the most swiftly, and rarely leave any scars."
When I could speak again, I said, "Does that mean we're friends again?"
"Yes, we are friends," he said gently. "That never changed."
"Thank you," I whispered.
This time, I didn't move away. I contentedly hugged him for as long as he would allow it.
Eventually, he said, "How about washing your face, and then we can both walk into town? I need to see what this knee can do, and Danny probably isn't the only little tyke who's been missing you. We can visit them. Little ones can be very cheerful, if tiring. Visiting them might make both of us feel better."
I took the hint, and stepped away from him.
"There's one other thing that I need to do first," I said.
I turned toward the stairway and started working my way up it. He followed, and I wasn't surprised to see curiosity written all over his face when I glanced over my shoulder.
He stopped in my doorway, though I went straight in to my chest of drawers. I opened the sock drawer and took out his gloves. I pushed it closed with an elbow, and then turned to him and extended his property.
"Thank you," he said.
I turned and got down onto my knees, and reached behind my shoes to get his boots. I gave those back to him, also.
"Thank you, again," he said. "The rest can wait until after we get back, if you like. I'm not going away, not yet. If I tried, I'd be… well, very over-exposed, if I only wore these."
I giggled, but the imagined image of Vash wearing only his underwear, gloves and boots was not displeasing. It did strange things to my insides.
"You have your long red coat," I said, "but wearing only that, with gloves, boots and regular undies, well... it could get a little drafty, on a windy day."
He grinned. "Shall we go visit the children?"
"Yes!" I said. I went to the bathroom and washed my face as he'd suggested. Then I returned to my room and put on a pair of sturdy walking shoes.
As I stood up, ready to leave, I saw through our doorways that he'd put away the gloves and put on his boots. He was pushing his pants legs down over the tops of them as I walked into the hall.
"Ready to go?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
We went downstairs, out the door, across the porch, and down the driveway to the main road. When we got that far, he let go of me.
"Want to race into town?" he asked.
"But you-"
"- can limp as well as you can," he said, his words a playful challenge. His eyes twinkled, and he was grinning.
"Mr. Second Man," I said, "you are on!"
We each hobbled as swiftly as we could down the road toward the village, but his legs were just enough longer than mine that he was beginning to gain on me. However, we both stumbled about the time we were even with the second resting-stone. We both fell to the ground, laughing in spite of ourselves.
"Did you win?" I said.
"I think it's a tie," he said.
"I'll go along with that idea," I said.
We picked ourselves up off the ground, and sat on the resting-stone. I looked up at the suns, and realized they were close to their zenith.
"Oh no," I said. "Did I cry all morning? Someone will be bringing lunch, soon."
"Then maybe we should return, and visit the children after lunch," he said.
So that's what we did. We stayed until the harvesters began coming to collect their children, and then we returned home.
After dinner, and dish-washing, and bidding farewell to the cooks, Vash asked to go outside. He sat on a side of the house that faced toward the open desert, and looked at the sky. I could tell that he was restless.
"Your heart and mind may be ready to go," I said, "but your body isn't quite caught up with them. Not yet. Please, try to be content, and bide here until you're stronger."
"Am I that transparent?" he said.
"I guess that old saying has some truth in it," I said, "the one about how it 'takes one to know one.' I know the feeling. Sometimes I want to leave this place so badly that it almost hurts. But, unlike for you, this place has always been my home. In time, I would grow to miss it. Eventually, I would return. Since I already know that, it doesn't matter too much when I leave. Or at least, that's what I tell myself when I feel that way."
I saw him turn his head out of the corner of my eye, to look at me briefly, before he returned his gaze to the sky.
"That Fred is going to be one heck of a lucky guy," he said.
"Will you stop with that nonsense about Fred!" I said, and swatted at his shoulder.
"Ow!" he protested, but then he started laughing.
I knew I hadn't swatted nearly hard enough to hurt him – in fact, my fingertips had barely brushed against his shirt – so I laughed, too. After we finished laughing, we sat in quiet companionship just looking at the sky until the suns were both well down. After dark, we went back inside.
When my door was shut for putting on my pajamas, I fished his leather sleeves out from under my mattress and then set the mattress and bedding back to rights. After our doors were both open again, I gave them to him.
"Thank you," he said playfully, "but even adding those would still leave it drafty, under my coat, on a windy day."
"I'll fetch the other pieces tomorrow morning," I said. "Though I hope you won't be putting them on right away."
He sobered. "Please don't ask for promises I might not be able to keep," he said softly.
I put my hand on his forearm, and it felt like my heart was in my throat.
He patted my hand and said gently, "Goodnight, Martha."
"Goodnight," I whispered hoarsely.
…
Year 0092 month 2 day 20
The following morning, I kept my promise and returned his clothes.
When I awoke two days later, only twelve days after the massacre, he was gone.
He left behind a note on a scrap of brown paper that simply said, "Thank you, for everything." It was signed, "From the Second Man."
…
Year 0092 month 9 day 14
About seven months after the Second Man left, I was watching my youngest niece.
Sally had named her youngest daughter "Milly," in memory of Mildred McCall. My sister had errands in December that day, and I'd been too restless to stay at home.
I thought I might take Milly with me to visit Yetta, since I'd not been to her bulb yet this week. She didn't always come out of her orb, but when she did she would smile or nod or wave at me. I figured that my niece was too young to be alarmed, whether Yetta came out or not.
Since the harvest was long over, everyone had returned to their usual daily pursuits. Some worked on their farms, others worked at their regular jobs. School was back in session, and most of the little children were again tended by their own families.
I was pushing little Milly in a stroller, and hobbling along behind it, when two unfamiliar men approached me. They looked a little lost, but they didn't have the hard, hostile expression in their faces that most strangers have.
They were an odd-looking pair.
One was very tall, at least as tall as the tallest man in our village. Unless I was mistaken, he also had slightly broader shoulders than our village's largest man. His hands were very large, and something about the way he moved told me that he was accustomed to using his strength. He had close-cropped sand-colored hair. He looked just a little bit sullen.
The other could scarcely have been more opposite. He was very slightly shorter than the other man's waist, yet somehow I knew that he was a man and not a boy. His limbs were lean, and his body narrow. His dark, curly hair was mostly hidden by a wide-brimmed hat which covered most of his head. He was smiling.
Somewhat to my surprise, they approached me.
"Pardon me," the smaller man said politely, "would you happen to know..."
He turned his head slightly, and his expression changed as he saw my left hand resting on the handle of the baby carriage.
I quickly hid my malformed hand behind my back, blushing.
"You wouldn't happen to be Martha Fitzgerald, would you?" he asked.
I blinked in surprise. "How..."
He smiled and extended his right hand. "Most people call me Doc," he said. "I received a letter about you, from a mutual friend."
"Vash?" I said, barely a whisper.
"Yes," Doc said, smiling even more broadly.
"Any friend of his," I said, smiled, and shook his hand.
I bashfully looked up at the other man, who still looked just a little bit sullen.
"Oh, don't mind Greg here," Doc said. "He's soon to be married, and doesn't like to be so far away from his bride."
"Pleased to meet you," I said to him, "though I'm sorry that meeting you means you must be away from someone that you hold dear."
His posture relaxed, just a little, and he nodded. "We wouldn't let Doc come all this way alone," he said gruffly. "He's family, and such a long trip can be dangerous."
I nodded at him, unable to disagree.
"And who is this?" Doc asked.
"My youngest niece, Milly," I said. "I'm looking after her today, while my sister goes shopping in December."
Little Milly waved a stuffed toy she was holding up in the air, and giggled happily.
Greg bent over to peer at Milly. "Strong family resemblance," he commented.
"Yes," I said, a little embarrassed. "Everyone says she almost looks more like me than like either my sister or my brother-in-law."
"It's not all that unusual for a child to resemble an aunt or uncle more than their parents," Doc said pleasantly.
I nodded, not quite knowing what else to say about that.
Little Milly giggled again. Her cheerfulness made both men grin.
Suddenly, the full reality of the situation began to sink in.
"You'll be needing a place to stay," I said, thinking out loud. "We have unused bedrooms at the house. You're welcome to stay with us, as long as you want or need."
"Thank you," Doc said, smiling again.
"Humph," Greg said. "He wasn't kidding. She's not like most outsiders."
Doc looked sideways at Greg, but didn't reply to his comment.
Milly cooed, and I saw him slowly begin to grow less tense.
"If you decide that you want to do this," Doc said seriously, "then we will need to spend some time at a hospital, too. He talked like there wasn't one in this village, so we may need to go to December?"
"That's true," I said. "This village is too small to attract a doctor. We have to go to December whenever we need medical care. What do you mean by 'if I decide to do this'?"
He put down a suitcase on the sidewalk and opened it. Inside were a left hand and a right foot. At first, I gasped and drew back. During those few heartbeats, I mistakenly thought that they were severed appendages. But then I felt silly, as I realized that they must be prosthetics. I drew closer again, fascinated.
"They're of the same craftsmanship as his arm and hand," Doc said softly. "And they're yours, if you want them. But I should warn you that first we will need to make them fit on you, by removing your current non-functional hand and foot. I'm not going to lie to you – cutting them off, even in a hospital with anesthetics, will hurt like crazy."
Little Milly giggled again. We all looked at her and smiled, before returning our attention to the reason that they had come.
"I understand," I said softly. I shook my head, and blinked again. "I'm sorry. To be perfectly truthful, I'm surprised. He said it would happen, and I knew that he believed it. But I didn't think that anyone would really come. Not for me."
"He said you saved his life," Doc said, "and showed yourself a true friend to him afterward. So of course we came. We wanted to meet you, if nothing else."
"I'm nothing special," I said, shrugging. I still stared at the prosthetics in the suitcase, unable to pull my gaze away. "I just tried to do what was right by him. I couldn't believe that someone would kill all those people, but then not fight back when they beat him."
"And there was proof of his innocence?" Doc said.
"Yes," I said. "Two people survived long enough to make a statement, though one died of her wounds later. Both said that he was the second man to come to that farm, not the first who did the killing. He was standing over one of the victims, to see if he could help her, when the sheriff arrived. Ike mistakenly thought he was intending to finish her off."
"So they beat him, badly," Doc said sorrowfully.
"Yes," I said sadly. "I wasn't able to stop them before they broke at least one of his ribs."
"I hope your sheriff apologized!" Greg said grumpily.
"I hope so, too," I said softly. "I didn't hear him say it myself, but I know that he visited both men during their stay in the hospital. I had nodded off in the chair between their beds, and then woke up to see him talking with Hank. Ike and the Second Man seemed to be on much better terms, before he left us. Ike even helped to change his bandages."
"Good," Doc said.
Little Milly waved her stuffed toy and giggled again. She seemed to like Greg, and he seemed to be – very gradually – warming up to her, too.
"Have you heard from him, since he left us?" I asked, unable to hold the question inside any longer. "I've been so worried about him! He was still having difficulty walking, when he left. Yet somehow he got far enough away, probably during the night, that I couldn't see him, even on the horizon, when I looked for him that morning."
"He's fine," Doc said, smiling. "We don't hear from him often, outside of special circumstances. When he makes a reasonable request, though, we're happy to answer it for his sake. He's very special to us."
"Yes," I said softly, "he is a very special person. I miss him."
"So do we all," Doc said gently. He closed the suitcase. "May we go to your house now, and get settled? Or do you have other errands in town that need tending to, first?"
"I was only restless," I admitted. "I thought about visiting Yetta, but that can wait. She had no reason to expect me."
"Oh, go ahead and visit your friend," Doc said. "We can go to the house on our own, if you give us directions."
Milly cooed again, her attention still on Greg. He grinned in response.
"You may as well come with me," I said, "since he's special to her, too."
"Sure," Doc said.
They followed me to the Plant, and Doc smiled. "Of course," he said softly.
Greg moved over to the computer, and started typing.
I gently laid my hand on the glass, as Vash had taught me. "Hello, Yetta," I said.
She chose to come out. I smiled at her, and she smiled back.
"So he introduced the two of you, did he?" Greg said. "She says she enjoys your visits."
"You can talk to her?" I asked, surprised.
"I know how to run the computer," Greg said, "that's all. I can't talk to her like he can."
I made introductions, and Greg did more typing.
"She says he's far away," Greg reported after a short pause. "Far from here, and far from home. He visited a Plant in that area yesterday, so as far as they know he's fine."
"Ah, that's good news," Doc said. "Thank you for asking her, Greg."
"No problem," he said.
"I wish I could learn to do that," I said, very softly; I was accidentally thinking out loud.
"That could be arranged," Doc said. "But first, we tend to your hand and foot... if you want us to do that."
"They already hurt," I said. "If it has to hurt more, for awhile, to get something that works... it would still be an improvement worth having."
Doc walked over to me, and patted my right hand where it rested on Milly's stroller's handle. "You don't have to decide today," he said. "This is a big decision. Sleep on it, and we can discuss it tomorrow."
"All right," I said, "though I expect that my answer will remain the same."
We bid Yetta farewell, and left the enclosure built around her bulb. Two steps beyond it, we ran into Fred... almost literally.
"Hello," Fred said to the men, a bit nervously. "Can I help you with something, maybe?"
"They're friends of the Second Man," I told him. "They'll be staying at the house for a little while."
Fred crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head to one side. "Really?" he said, sounding curious. "Please pardon my doubt, but before you follow one of our girls home, I'd appreciate some proof. Would you please be so kind as to describe him?"
Greg clenched his fist, but Doc gripped his wrist.
"It is a reasonable request," Doc said. "Would you want strange men going to the house of one of our girls, without speaking to them first?"
Greg's fists relaxed. "He's about this tall," he gestured at about his own eyes' height with one hand, "with blonde hair that sticks up like broom bristles. He's thin as a light pole, has blue-green eyes, and a dark freckle right here," he pointed at the appropriate spot near his own left eye. "He has a knack for getting himself into trouble, mostly because he won't stand by if there's even the smallest chance that someone might get hurt."
Fred's arms dropped to his sides, and then he extended his right hand. "I'm Fred Turner," he said. "Pleased to meet you."
Doc and Greg each shook his hand, and introduced themselves.
Fred returned to the blacksmith shop, and the other two followed me home.
…
Year 0092 month 10 day 28
I chose to have the operation done.
I returned home today. I'm still sore, but well on my way to recovering.
I've already learned most of the basics about how to use my new hand and foot.
Doc and Greg will be leaving soon, but my life will never again be the same.
It will be better.
…
…
Author's Note: Greg is my effort to imagine Brad's father.
Vash's quote was from Proverbs 27:6 "Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful."