The Sailor's Widow

Title: The Sailor's Widow
Time Period: June 24, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: Meeting Patrick's wife. It could have been… worse.

While Idgie did insist on being the one of the crew to bring Patrick's widow his possessions, the new face in Dornie has let it a few days. No reason to crowd the woman when it was a brand new tragedy.

Not that it'll be much better now, but better not to leave it too long. And the truth of the matter is, Idgie needed a few days, too.

But today, with his bag slung over her shoulder, a crate being wheeled along behind her, and a sealed letter from the captain in hand, she's made her way to Sorcha's door. And if she pauses there a moment or two, who could blame her. But her knuckles rise to rap against the wooden door. Sot, at first, but more firm on the second round.

Doors don't answer on their own, and is ignored the first time. If it was Mariah or someone else, they'd either come right in. Which means when the door is knocked on the second time, it's someone who is likely bearing something for her or her mother to eat.

As if Sorcha's even doing such a thing.

Eventually though, the door opens and on the household side of the door, at the base of the stairs that lead to the upstairs apartments that she and her mother - and patrick at some point - stands the newly widowed seamstress. Curly hair tied back, in day old clothes and staring listlessly at the afro'd woman on the other side of the door, waiting. Clearly expecting the other woman to talk first even as she stands there.

"Hi." It's a rough start, but at least she gets something out there. The single word, though, is quite enough to give away that she has nothing like a Scottish accent. "I'm Idgie. Idgie Scott. I sailed on the Wind with Patr— with your husband."

She's not used to this sort of thing, it's pretty clear. "I noticed nobody'd brought this around, and I thought I'd better. His things and the… he'd bought some fabrics and beads and things for you." It comes with a nod toward the crate. There's a blip before she remembers she has a bag on her shoulder, but once the thought comes to her, she slips it off to pass over along with the letter.

By rote, she takes the bag, the letter, looking down at them like some foreign object. Next the crate. "You can, uh.. bring it up" It takes a few more moments to hear the words in her head, even after her mouth has already said it. Takes another few cycles for her to let propriety and manners burble up to the surface through grief. "Did you, need help doing that?" THe stairs are few but still. "There… there might be someone outside to help you"

Idgie glances back at the crate, as if judging its size and weight. But in the end, she gives a whistle to grab a passer-by's attention, and ends up with some help in getting it upstairs. She doesn't seem willing to let Sorcha help.

Once it's all squared away, though, she shoos away the help, but doesn't quite leave herself. No, instead, she shuts the door and looks back toward the new widow. "Can I make you something? A drink? I'm lousy with tea, but I'm great with coffee. And alcohol. And both together." It's an attempt at humor, even if it doesn't quite make it.

Sorcha doesn't even bother to oversee the bringing up of the crate. Just trudges back up the stairs and squirrels herself out of sight until the help is gone. Except that half the help doesn't go. At least Idgie's manners are there. "There's uhm…" The letter held in her hands and the bag tossed into a corner. "There's a pot of water in the in the kitchen. I think. Uhh I don't have any coffee, I ran out. I think. But I have. There's uhhh, there's some alcohol I think, on the counter"

She knows there is, she's had three generous glasses of it so far. "If you want some that is. I'm not really.. fit for company right now"

"Oh, don't worry none about that, sweetie," Idgie says, her smile bittersweet, "It isn't your job to be good company just now." When she disappears into the kitchen, she makes two cups of very bad tea, taking an indulgent moment to linger in the place he lived when he was at home, but eases the taste with a generous dose of liquor.

One is handed over to Sorcha before she takes a seat for herself. "I can go, if you want. But ah… he was a good friend. Saved my life," she says, a trace of guilt there, "Having a visit is the least I can do."

The table has been cleared a fraction, space made for the cups to be put down. Half done clothing that who knows when it will get done. KNitting, balls of yarn waiting to be knitted. Sorcha sitting and waiting for Idgie to be done. Elsewhere the house is empty, someone having taken care of her mother and gotten her out for some fresh air. Likely letting the woman take care of arranging a funeral for her son in law since Sorcha so far, has done little else but sleep, lay in bed and drink.

Her hands curl around the cup, looking down into the still water. "You worked on the boat with him?"

"I did. The Captain took me on in the middle of the ocean. Long story, but there it is. Most of the others from my boat left, but the sailors told stories about it up here, thought I'd check it out. Somebody oughta tell the weather man, it's supposed to be summer out there." Wherever she's from, it's somewhere with better weather.

"He talked about you; I'd hoped to meet you under happier circumstances. But— I'm not sure it helps. But you were on his mind a lot."

"I'm hi-" No she's not. "I was his wife. I would hope, that when his mind was not on the sails and going too and fro, that it would be on me, waiting for him" Clearly though, it was, if he brought back the crate of things. "It's scotland. On a good day, it just rains straight down. On a bad day, it rains sideways" That's not even a joke. "Not that we have a weatherman" She doesn't look up at Idgie, just at the tea, the smell of the alcohol that sits in it. "Did the ship make it?"

"Well, he was better about thinking about you than I was about thinking about my family, that's for sure," Idgie says with a chuckle that doesn't quite make it to mirthful. "Anyway, I've a bone to pick with all of them. Didn't say a word about the rain. Not one word." There's a nod, though, at the question. "She did. Needs some love, but she'll make it. I'll be doing some of the work myself. Handy with wood, see."

"So it won't be leaving soon" No further comment about whether he was thinking of her and in better times, she'd joke back that the rain was the best kept secret of Scotland. That and it's men. She might make jokes about wood too, and hands and how she's got an employee who sure knows a little about both of those things!

But she doesn't. Just sits in the awkward silence that permeates the air between Idgie's verbal offerings.

"Not for a while. Some of the boys are looking for work on other ships, but a good chuck, they're staying to help get her up and sailing again." Idgie hasn't actually had any of her drink, just holding it in her hands. Works almost as good as gloves. There's along pause before she looks back over Sorcha's way. "Am I bothering you? I just wanted to drop off— and well, if you need anything. I'm working at the carpenter's, looks like. Not that you don't have plenty people offering the same, I bet, but you know. You know."

"I think it's best if you did go" Palms pull away from the cup, smooth down and out any wrinkles in her skirt. "I appreciate the effort and I wish you good luck. Whether you go back onto the boats or not and thank you. For bringing hi- the things for me." Her chair protests as she pushes it back to stand up, offer her hand to the American in her home.

Idgie halts a moment, sitting up a little straighter. But she manages a smile in Sorcha's direction as she sets her cup down. "Sorry," she says with an embarrassed breath of a laugh. "I'll let you be." She takes the offered hand, leaving Sorcha with a warm squeeze when she stands as well. "I can see myself out. I just— wanted to make sure his things got to the right home."

Limp hand squeeze, if one can even call it that. "Thank you for that" POliteness now, more than anything. "The door's over there" A gesture to where they came in. "If you get lost, I'm sure someone can direct you back to the docks" Sorcha lets her hands fall to her sides, but making no move to actually show Idgie to the door, see her out and down the stairs.