Set Fire to the Rain 2, Ch. 20 "Lost Saints"

This fanfiction is intended for mature readers due to the vivid depiction of a consensual adult relationship.  The setting is First Season, post-The Preacher.  I am not an expert on Victorian poets or poetry in general, so just sit back and enjoy the stanzas o’ love, and don’t worry about the particulars. 

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Doc wrapped his hands around Kitty’s slim waist, taking unhappy note of the weight she’d lost since being sick, and helped her down out of the buggy.  He grumbled, “You sure you won’t let me stay here with you for a while?”

“I’m sure, Doc.”  She slipped her arms around his neck and tugged him close, murmuring in his ear, “I need to be alone right now.”  She leaned back a bit and worriedly looked into his eyes.  “You understand, don’t ya’, Doc?”

Doc swiped a hand over his wiry mustache and said, “Yes, yes…  But I just don’t feel right leaving you here by yourself.”

“You can see me from the house.”  She gestured.  “I’m not far away.  You can come back and get me in thirty minutes, alright?”  She gripped his gnarled hands in hers.  “I just need a little time is all.”

“Oh, alright…” he groused, mightily displeased at leaving his favorite patient behind.  “But I’ll be right over there at the house, keeping an eye on you.  If you need anything, you just wave your arms in the air and I’ll be back over here quick as a wink.”

Kitty quickly pecked his cheek.  “You just come back and get me in thirty minutes, and I’ll be fine.”

Scowling fiercely, his face pink after her affectionate kiss, Doc climbed back into the buggy Isom had fetched for them from the barn.  “Thirty minutes, and not one minute more…”

“Thanks for the ride, Curly.”  She gave him a sly smile as he huffed and gave the reins a slap, heading the short distance back toward the ranch house.

As she watched him drive away, Kitty inhaled the delicious spring air, smelling the tender, pale green leaves sprouting on each little branch and tiny twig of the ancient tree behind her, heralding new life on the prairie once again.  Kitty turned with a deep sigh and faced the gnarled old oak, its trunk so huge she wouldn’t have been able to span it with both arms.  It stood like a massive sentinel on the little hilltop, guarding the two graves that lay beneath its sheltering branches, one old, one fairly fresh.  She reached in her pocket and retrieved two small posies of March flowers she’d tied together with yellow ribbons, placing one on each grave.  Her eyes were reluctantly drawn to the two modest gravestones, one carved “Solomon V. Pierce” and the other “Océane Kathleen Arcenaux Pierce & Infant.”  Beneath that line, in script beginning to weather away, was inscribed “I shall but love thee better after death.” 

Kitty drew in a quick breath and hurriedly opened her aunt’s journal that she’d brought along.  She flipped carefully through the yellowing pages until she found it.  Her aunt’s favorite poem, painstakingly copied word for word.  She’d found it only this morning, and thought it the loveliest thing she’d ever read in her whole life. Wispy tendrils of fiery, titian hair escaped Kitty’s thick braid in the soft breeze sweeping over the endless sea of grass, carrying her voice aloft as she read the poem aloud in a hushed voice:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Sonnet XLIII, Elizabeth Barrett Browning

A tear rolled hotly down Kitty’s cheek as she closed Océane’s precious book of confidences and clasped it tightly to her bosom.  Her heart swelled in her chest, and she felt so very close to her aunt in that instant, like she’d truly known her.  She knew for a fact she understood her.  They had so much in common, although many of their mutual life experiences had been, in fact, quite unfortunate and regrettable.  But, because of the priceless gift of Océane and Solomon’s ranch, Kitty would have a chance to redeem herself, to pull herself up by her bootstraps, just as her aunt had done herself so many years past.  She could feel Océane’s spirit glowing inside her like a candle, and it gave her strength and courage.  “Thank you…” she whispered to them both, and kneeled on the ground beside their graves to read some more of the old journal, wondering what other treasures she might find inside.

tbc

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