Seth MacFarlane's A Million Ways to Die in the West(17)

Yao Ling was on her feet and heading out the door within seconds.

“Wait—come on!” Albert shouted desperately. “Are you … even allowed to be offended by anything I do?”

But of all his botched attempts at moving on from Louise, perhaps the most uncomfortable was the blind date. One of the neighboring dirt farmers just across the range had said he had a daughter who was still unmarried and offered to set her up with Albert. Grateful for the thought, Albert accepted and suggested a lunch meeting at Clara’s. When he arrived, he found himself seated across the table from a twelve-year-old girl.

Marriage at a young age was, of course, not uncommon, but Albert wasn’t the type to go in for such an arrangement. It would be difficult to maintain a satisfying, mature relationship with a woman if you were constantly being asked to help with her homework. He tried to let her down easily.

“So, I uh … I know this sort of thing is totally acceptable out here on the frontier, but, uh … not gonna lie, something about it feels kinda weird.”

“My mother says I need to find a husband so I don’t become an old maid,” the girl said, shifting in her seat.

“Well, I … I think you got a few years ahead of you before that. How—how old are you?” asked Albert.

“I’ll be twelve in this many days,” she answered, proudly holding up eight fingers.

The waiter approached with his order pad. “Would you and your girlfriend like some dessert?” he asked.

“Oh, she’s not my girlfriend,” Albert answered a little too loudly. “Um, we’ll just take the check.” The waiter smiled and walked away.

“Why were you such a dick about that?” The girl scowled.

“What?”

“ ‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ ” she mocked. “You were so aggressive about it. What, do I embarrass you or something?”

“No, no, but I …” Albert searched. “I mean, this is a first date, so I think terms like girlfriend are a little premature. I just want to keep this open, y’know?”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry you’re feeling smothered,” she said, fixing him with a cold stare.

Albert gnawed a chunk of bread. “Y’know, I’m starting to see why you don’t have a husband.”


The funeral was a modest affair, though certainly average by the standards of the community. It was a perfect day for it too, with the dull slate sky overhead and the chilly breeze ghosting its way across the plains. Albert and his father stood around the open grave, flanked by Edward, Ruth, and several other townsfolk. Pastor Wilson led the ceremony, reading solemnly from scripture. “O merciful God, take this good woman into thine heavenly kingdom, that she may find peace and freedom from earthly suffering,” he intoned with as much life as the corpse itself.

Albert always wondered how he would feel when he lost a parent. He had assumed that George would be the first one to go, but it had turned out to be Elsie. And although she’d been in her seventies, it wasn’t old age that took her. Elsie had gone outside to fetch water from the well, when a cougar attacked. The only silver lining was that the cat’s initial pounce had knocked her down with such force that her skull cracked open as it slammed into a rock. Thus she was already dead when the cougar began feasting on her innards. George had rushed outside when he heard the ruckus and managed to scare the animal off with a few rounds from his Winchester, but it was too late.

And so he and Albert now stood side by side, father and son, their heads bowed low as they said their silent goodbyes to Elsie Stark, wife and mother. But although Albert felt all the pain associated with such a loss, what he felt the most was shame and confusion. I’m more broken up over Louise than I am over the loss of my mother. How the hell could that be? Was he so awash in self-pity and so twisted in his perspective that he’d become utterly callous to the outside world? Was he a terrible person? Or was it merely that Elsie been such a hardheaded pain-in-the-ass bitch when she was alive?

His torturous self-analysis was cut short by an empathetic hand on his shoulder.

“I’m really sorry, Albert,” Edward whispered sadly.

Albert turned and offered him a polite smile of gratitude. He then turned to his father. “You okay, Dad?”

George’s face was a stony-eyed mask. “She was a good solid woman,” he grunted. “I liked her.”

“Easy, Dad, I’m uncomfortable with all this emotion.”

Two cowboys approached, each one carrying a dead body slung over his shoulder. The corpses were covered in fresh blood from multiple bullet wounds. “Hey, we got a couple more here,” said the first cowboy.