Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, Ch. 2 "If I Should Die"

A short distance from the house, she sighted the well, and, thankfully, it appeared as though it still had a serviceable rope and bucket.  Peering carefully about the shadowy yard first, Kitty hurried to the small wooden structure and released the bucket.  She nervously examined her surroundings as she lowered the rope over the groaning pulley, watching for suspicious signs of movement in the surrounding bushes. Within the shadows of the branches of an ancient cottonwood tree, a pair of glowing eyes steadily met her gaze, and she gasped in fright.  But the animal blinked once and took flight, a Great Horned Owl whose nocturnal hunt for fresh meat she had interrupted.  The powerful bird swept away on silent wings, and Kitty breathed a shaky sigh of relief. 

But no sooner had she chided herself for being so jittery than a wolf’s eerie howl once more penetrated the dark night, from directly over the hill.   Kitty’s spine tingled as this time his sinister call was answered.  A second wolf, its haunting howl even closer than the first, sounded from the opposite direction.  Her heart flew to her throat and her pulse quickened once more.  She quickly drew the water out of the well and dumped it in her bucket, then scurried to the buggy.  She blindly felt around the floorboard for the shotgun she knew Doc always carried with him on lengthy house calls.  Her fingers clamped down on the cold steel of the barrel, and she silently thanked Doc for his uncommonly good sense. 

Snatching up the shotgun in one hand and hauling her heavy bucket of water in the other, she rushed for the safety of the cabin, the howls of the wolves in the near distance dogging her steps and snapping figuratively at her heels.  Bolting inside, she frantically backed against the door, shutting it hard.  Water sloshed heedlessly onto the dirt below as she set her bucket on the floor with a thump.  She breathed heavily with fright as she clutched Doc’s shotgun to her chest, attempting to calm herself.  Why, those were nothing but a couple of overgrown house pets, she scolded herself.  You oughta be ashamed for gettin’ yourself so worked up.  She blew a wayward curl out of her eyes and wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve, then went about her business.   

Kitty built a small fire in the fireplace, just big enough to draw the damp chill out of the room.  But slithering from beneath the kindling, to Kitty’s horror, she discovered a fairly healthy-sized blacksnake.  Its wicked hissing, darting forked tongue and writhing, scaly body sent shivers down her spine and a screech from her throat.  She unceremoniously chased the serpent out the door with a broom.

And through the entire ruckus, Doc hadn’t roused.  It frightened her to think of how sick he must be.  When she looked at his face, it was hard not to recall baby Emma’s face, right before she died.  No, Kitty reproved herself, you musn’t think that way.  Doc would be just fine.  He had to be.

Kitty had managed to get some water down him and fretted about the fact that there was no food to be found anywhere.  Doc needed a good beef broth to keep his strength up, but she had to content herself with keeping him dosed faithfully with quinine at the appointed intervals and bathing his face and neck with cool water often to try and bring the terrible fever down. 

Finally, she allowed herself the luxury of resting in a creaky old rocking chair at the foot of Doc’s bed, close to the warmth of the fire.  Kitty couldn’t help but wish Matt were here with her.  He would’ve come in awful handy when that slithering snake crawled out from under the woodpile.  She wondered what Matt was doing right now, and if he was worried about her yet.  He was well aware she had gone to help Doc but didn’t know exactly when they’d return.  Matt probably wouldn’t realize anything was amiss for quite some time yet.  So Kitty figured she was on her own.  She just prayed she could pull Doc through.

She had no idea what time it was.  The wee hours of the morning, she supposed.  As she sat and rocked, exhaustion set in and her eyelids began drifting closed.  She didn’t want to fall asleep.  She had to stay awake in case Doc needed her.  Glancing at the bed where he lay, she wondered who else had slept there.  Idly speculating about who else might have borrowed this deserted cabin, she tried not to think about all the outlaws and cutthroats who sometimes frequented these parts. 

Kitty’s eyes flew open wide when there was an unexpected knock at the door.  Who on earth?  And at this hour!  Her heart began to race as she pondered the possibilities.  She eased up out of the chair and soundlessly picked up Doc’s shotgun from the table. 

“Who’s there?” she called. 

No answer.  Only crickets singing their dirge in the dead of night.  

Then again the mysterious knock sounded.  More insistent this time. 

“I said, ‘Who’s there?’” she called, more loudly this time.  She hoisted the gun to her shoulder and stood between Doc’s bed and the door. 

Not a sound.  No voices.  No footsteps.  No rustling.  Still, no answer.  The only sound she heard now was the wood crackling in the fireplace.  Even the crickets had stopped their mournful lamentation.  Stone dead silence.

Kitty stood alert, every nerve strained, the barrel of the gun aimed directly at the door.  Just then, the wholly unnatural yet unmistakable sound of a small baby wailing shattered the unsettling stillness.  Kitty jerked in surprise.  The noise made every hair of her flesh bristle.   The infant’s cry began to move away from the door and slowly round the corner of the house.  Kitty’s pulse pounded in her ears and her hands trembled as she held the gun.  She could hear it plainly through the walls as it wended its way slowly about the dilapidated house.  This was not natural.  Something was not right here.  Kitty turned, holding her breath, and followed the eerie wailing, listened for an eternity to the plaintive sound.  She turned, ears straining, facing the sound as it went around, eyes open wide in terror.  It made one complete circle around the building where she and Doc were sheltering for the night.  Then…silence.  The unearthly disturbance had ceased just as suddenly as it had begun.  Shaking, her knees gave out and she lowered herself into the rocking chair at the foot of Doc’s bed, gun in hand, trying to steady her heart rate, to slow her erratic breathing. 

Doc suddenly opened his eyes wide and spoke in a low, hoarse voice, heavy with exhaustion, “…little Emma…”  He looked piercingly at Kitty.  “…she was here …” 

“What?” Kitty whispered, her voice tremulous.  Her heart raced at the peculiar look in Doc’s eye, but at that moment, she could sense it.  No…she could scent it.  Or was it her imagination?  A faint scent hanging in the air, of sweet, soft, new skin and milk and clean, sun-drenched cotton diapers…  The scent that had clung to the youngest Sweetwood child when Kitty held her close.  When she touched her lips to those golden curls.  Was Doc right?

Doc mumbled, “…her mother…set her free.”  His eyes drifted closed, he heaved a great sigh, and was still.

Kitty dropped the gun with a clatter onto the table and rushed to his bedside.  “Doc!”  She clutched his shoulders.  “Doc!  Speak to me!”  She placed her hands on his face and her mouth dropped open in surprise.  He was cool to the touch.  His body was covered in cool perspiration.  His fever had broken, and he was sleeping soundly.  “Oh, Doc…”  Tears of fear and anxiety and relief streaked her cheeks as she kissed his dear old forehead.  Kitty wiped his face with a damp cloth and tucked the ragged blanket in around him. 

She settled herself back in her chair, still trembling, her mind a jumble, to speculate at all that had occurred that black autumn night.  Her skin prickled at the notion that Doc claimed it was Emma’s spirit who had been outside the house…and that Doc’s fever had broken with her appearance.  Kitty’s ancient rocker steadily creaked in time to the rhythmic breathing coming from Doc’s bed.  She hugged herself and shivered, but she knew Doc was gonna be alright.

End

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Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, Ch. 1 "Soul to Keep"

Kitty gripped the buggy reins tightly in her damp palms and anxiously urged her friend, “Hold on, Doc.  It won’t be long now.”  She peered ahead, thankful for the light of the full October moon, glowing orange and hanging low over the horizon.  Her heart leapt when she sighted the structure she’d remembered passing four days before on their way out to the Sweetwood place.  “There’s an abandoned cabin just up the road here.  We’ll stop for a spell.”

Doc didn't answer her.  He sat beside Kitty in the jostling buggy, hunched over, sweating, leaning heavily against her shoulder.  Kitty’s blood ran cold at the thought of what could happen to him.  Maybe what happened to the youngest Sweetwood child.  She prayed that wasn't so. 

Kitty had gone with Doc out to the Sweetwood farm to be his nurse when he’d received word that three of the six children in the family had taken ill with a terrible fever.  Kitty had watched Doc work furiously to save those children for thirty-six hours straight with no sleep.  Six-year-old twins Caroline and Carmela had pulled through, thanks to plenty of quinine and constant care.  But the baby of the family, ten-month-old Emma who had captured Kitty’s heart with her wide, shining blue eyes and soft, blond, fuzzy ringlets, had succumbed to the fever in the middle of the night.  They’d buried little Emma Sweetwood the next morning in a tiny homemade coffin Doc had pieced together from scraps of wood he’d found out back of the barn. 

It was one of the most sorrowful things Kitty had ever been forced to witness, laying that little girl in the cold ground, wrapped in her small, hand-pieced yellow quilt.  Doc was taking the loss hard, sure, but Emma’s mother Ophelia, was utterly devastated.  She sat over the child’s resting place, mounded up with rocks to keep away the predators, all through the day and into the crisp autumn evening.  Kitty had hardly been able to pull her away from the baby’s graveside to come inside at night, shivering with the cold.  “I can’t leave her outside…”  Ophelia wept.  “…cold and alone in the dark…  My sweet baby…”  Kitty cried along with her and tried to get the inconsolable woman to eat to no avail, putting the woman to bed and holding her hand until she fell into an exhausted sleep.      

And throughout it all, the child’s grandmother, wizened old Eula Sweetwood, furrowed complexion baked by years spent beneath a harsh prairie sun, watched with eyes that missed nothing.  Eula sat in the rocker by the fire, her arthritic, gnarled hands lying useless in her lap, shaking her gray head while muttering, “Nothing good…nothing good will come…”  Her watery gaze pierced Kitty’s.  “…when the heart cannot let go.”  Those faded, knowing eyes made Kitty shiver.

She and Doc had only reluctantly left the home to return to Dodge when the children’s father, Silas Sweetwood, returned from the silver mines.  Fourteen-year-old Sammie had ridden the family mule to fetch their pa when the sickness got bad.  It was a terrible sight that greeted poor Silas when he returned home. 

Kitty hadn’t felt right leaving Ophelia, who was suffering the loss of her precious babe so keenly, but she knew in her heart there was nothing more she could do to help.  She reckoned that only time and the loving care of her remaining family could heal Mrs. Sweetwood’s broken heart.

And poor Doc looked so drained.  He was worrying her, the way he looked at her sadly with his sunken eyes and drawn expression.  He was exhausted, and they had a very long, tiring drive back to Dodge in Doc’s buggy.  She just knew he’d feel better once he had a warm meal and plenty of sleep in a proper bed.  Then, she promised herself, when he was well rested, they would come back out here again to check on the Sweetwood family, sorrowfully reduced in size by one small, sweet, golden-haired babe.

Unfortunately, Doc had fallen ill with alarming haste on the trip back to Dodge.  And she wasn't sure how proper the bed would be in this old, dilapidated shack.  But it was better than nothing, under the circumstances.  “Whoa!” Kitty called to the horse, pulling up hard on the reins as they reached the abandoned cabin.  “Doc?” She put her arm around his shoulders and her hand on his hot cheek.  “Doc?  You’re burning up.  Can you hear me?”  He peered at her through slitted, glassy eyes and mumbled unintelligibly.  Kitty’s heart sank down to the pit of her stomach. 

She tied off the leather reins, quickly hitched up her heavy skirts, and jumped down from the buggy, grabbing Doc’s black bag as an afterthought.  “I’ll be right back.” 

Through the darkness, a lone wolf’s howl hauntingly pierced the silent night.  Every hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she drew in a quick, panicked breath.  Desperately hoping that wolf was farther away than it sounded, she shivered, thinking the animal seemed to be so very close, right across that open field…  Kitty steeled her nerves.  She had to get Doc inside so he could get some rest and she could get some quinine into him.    She had to get that fever down.  Wolf or no wolf.  And they’d be safe from predators once they were inside.

Kitty pulled the latchstring, and the heavy, weathered wooden plank door unwillingly groaned on its rusty hinges, like a long-neglected gate to an ancient mausoleum.   The unpleasant sound beckoned unhappy childhood memories of visiting her mother’s crypt in St. Louis Cemetery in New Orleans, of weeping and wailing for loved ones who couldn't be saved.   Of unutterable longing for those who can never return to you.

She started from her mournful reverie when something softly touched her face.  Kitty shrank back and gasped, then realized it was only a dusty cobweb, spun in the unused doorway.  She brushed it away, and hoped the spider who weaved it wasn't at that moment crawling infinitesimally through her hair.  

The light of the full moon didn't penetrate far into the room, so Kitty had to wait until her eyes adjusted to the gray illumination.  She could smell the cold, damp earth floor beneath her feet before she could see it, and it brought to mind the discordant odor of a fresh dug grave on Boot Hill.  Shapes of furniture, long since abandoned by its owner, lay scattered about the room, ghostly remnants of a past life.  Why was this cabin deserted, she wondered?  Was the owner serving a life sentence in a dank prison somewhere for an unspeakable crime?  Or did he die a slow, horrible death from disease?  Oh, poor Doc…  

Her heart beat faster in her chest and she quickly looked around for a lamp.  She spotted a candle holder with a half-burned beeswax candle in the middle of a rickety table.  Matches…  There were several matches scattered nearby.  With fumbling fingers in the dark, she tried striking them, but two broke, one after another, and none would light.  Swearing, Kitty then remembered the bag she’d set on the table. 

She opened Doc’s ubiquitous black leather case, but couldn't make out the contents within its inky interior.  She lugged it to a nearby window, anemic moonlight streaming through, and rummaged around until she located a tin of matches.  She struck one and listened to the satisfying hiss as it burned. 

Hastily, she bent to light the candle wick, and went to examine the bed, no bigger than a cot, really, wondering if, in fact, it was still usable.   Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be intact and sturdy enough.  The dusty blankets and pillow were thoroughly shaken and closely checked for any unwelcome creatures.  When it was as clean and comfortable as she could make it, she dusted off her hands and hurried outside to fetch her desperately sick friend.

Doc was still slumped over in the seat.  She spoke soothingly, “I’ve gotta get you inside, Doc.  Can you walk a little ways?  It’s not far.  I’ll help you.”  Gently, Kitty touched his face, trying to rouse him.  “Come on, Doc, I’ve got you.”  She placed his hand on her shoulder for support and helped him half-climb, half-stumble down out of the buggy, holding onto him the best she possibly could.  Struggling with the weight of a full grown man on her shoulders, she managed to get him through the door and into the house, praying they wouldn’t both fall in a heap. 

She backed him up to the bed, and they both sat down heavily.  Shrugging his arm from around her neck, she carefully removed his suit coat and battered hat.   After easing his head gently back onto the pillow, she caressed his cheek and damp forehead, murmuring, “It’ll be all right, Doc.  I’ll take care of you now.”  She tugged off his scuffed boots one by one and set them beside the bed on the dirt floor.  Tenderly, she lifted his stocking feet onto the bed and draped a wool blanket over him. 

Resting her hands on her hips, she heaved a tired sigh and wiped her perspiring forehead with the back of her hand.  In spite of the cool evening air, her face was flushed with the effort of getting Doc inside and settled.  She hadn’t realized until now how exhausted she was.  Her lower back ached and her head was beginning to throb.  But her only worry for now was Doc.

The first order of business was getting some quinine down him.  Kitty often helped Doc nurse his patients, and she was very familiar with the dose he gave full grown men with a fever.  Digging in his bag by the candlelight, she poured the correct amount into a measuring glass and sat beside Doc on the bed.  She slipped an arm around his shoulders to support him and held the glass to his lips.  “Doc, you gotta take this,” she urged him. 

He opened his eyes, just a bit, and looked up at her, face drawn and flushed with fever. 

“Open up, Curly.  Drink this so you’ll get better.  For me…please?” 

“Just…” His voice was the faintest whisper, and she had to lean close to hear him, so that her hair brushed his hot cheek.  “Just…for you.”  He swallowed it down with trembling lips, and tenderly she wiped a drop from the corner of his mouth with her thumb.  Leaning over to kiss his forehead, her chest tightened when she felt the heat of his fever against her skin.   She loosened his string tie and collar button. 

“Rest now, Doc.  And I’ll go out to the well and get you some water.”  She laid her hand on his arm.  

“Plenty of liquids.  Isn’t that what you always say?”

She detected a ghost of a smile on his lips, patting him before she went to fetch a bucket out of the kitchen, turning it upside down and shaking it thoroughly.  Kitty put her hand on the latch and took a deep breath before pulling the door open.  She sincerely hoped that wolf was far away by now. 

tbc

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Kitty's Story, Ch. 3 "I Need This"

Author's Note:  If you've already read this story, this chapter is not entirely new, but it does contain a new scene with Doc, their first meeting, right after the iconic scene where Kitty gets off the stagecoach in Dodge and spots Matt Dillon eating an enormous breakfast.  I based it somewhat on the efforts of the Union Army during the Civil War to stop the decimation of their ranks by disease from prostitution.    It is meant to be humorous, sweet, and sad.  I hope you enjoy it.

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“Dodge City!”  The stagecoach came to a slippery, lurching halt on filthy, mud-choked Front Street.  The driver, dripping wet from the unrelenting, cold, misting rain in spite of his oilskin, handed Kitty down out of the coach and advised, “Miss, we’ll be here for an hour so you got time to git you some breakfast ‘fore we leave out again.”

Kitty had surreptitiously counted her money on the drive here through Indian Territory, while her fellow passengers, a grizzled old miner and an apparent gambler, had slept fitfully in the bouncing contraption.  Forty dollars and sixty-six cents.  It wouldn’t get her a whole lot further.  But it got her out of Abilene, and it would get her the hell outta this god-forsaken town, she thought as she looked around at the depressingly saturated streets and drab, gray buildings of Dodge City, Kansas. 

Kitty was heading back East.  She’d had a stomach full of cowboys and outlaws and lawmen who turned a blind eye to their transgressions.  The straw that broke the camel’s back was two weeks ago today when her friend Maddie Blaine was knifed by a liquored up ranch hand.  Sheriff Burkett had given the young man what amounted to a slap on the hand, seeing as how it was only a whore who’d gotten hurt.  Kitty helped give her friend a decent burial, and then hopped on a stagecoach headed east, not looking back once.

She miserably slogged across Front Street to the café and ordered the cheapest thing on the breakfast menu, shivering with the damp and the cold as she held her hands around her coffee cup for the residual warmth.    It was then that a man strode past her table, the biggest man she’d ever seen in all her born days.  Her eyes widened nearly imperceptibly as she watched him head for a table across the room, and he sat alone, facing in her direction.  Long legs, long arms, broad shoulders, enormous hands.  He removed his sodden hat and she noticed an enviable mass of dark curls that he immediately ran his fingers through in an apparent effort to tame them.  She also noticed his badge.  A lawman.  Huh.  What do you know about that, she archly thought to herself.  She wondered if he was on the take, too.

But there was something about this man.  He had a kind face, and she couldn’t help but notice his striking, gentle blue eyes.  Just the fact that he wasn’t ogling her across the room said something to her.  The man was polite.  She watched him interacting with several of the other customers.  This lawman was liked and respected, she could tell.  And he was treating the women with deference.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen anything like that. 

Not only did he not ogle her, the man didn’t even notice her.  He was intent on eating an enormous breakfast of ham and eggs and biscuits and gravy.  She didn’t know where he put it all, but she supposed that it took a lot of food to keep a big boy like him goin’ proper.  And she could tell also, by the way the few women in the place furtively looked his way all pie-eyed, that he was most probably unattached. 

Kitty hurriedly finished her eggs and toast, then dug in her reticule for the change to pay for her meal, gulping down the last of her now lukewarm coffee.  She peered down at the forty dollars she had left and wondered again how far it would get her.  She looked across the café at that handsome lawman that she found herself curiously drawn to for some strange reason.  This man who made her heart squeeze in her chest when she gazed secretly at him from under her lashes. 

She hurriedly wiped her mouth with her napkin and reluctantly left the dry confines of the café to head out in the misty morning toward the stagecoach.  She spied a saloon across the street called the Long Branch as she squelched through the mire, and her stomach suddenly felt queer.  She made it to the coach as the driver called out, “Just in time, Miss!  We’re headin’ out!”

“I want my bag!” she blurted out.

The driver’s mouth dropped open in surprise.  “What?”

“I said I want my bag!  I’ve changed my mind.  I’m staying in Dodge.”  She squinted against the rain which pelted her face harder as she looked at the confused driver.

“Are you sure, Miss?  This is a purty rough cowtown…”

“I’m sure.  But thanks.”  She smiled at him even as rain dripped miserably down her collar.

He untied her lone carpetbag from the top of the coach and asked, “This the one?”

“Yes.”

He handed it down to her and said, “You take care, now, you hear?”

“I will,” she called out.  “Thank you for your concern, driver.”

“Good luck to you,” he answered and slapped the reins over the horse’s backs.  “Hyah!”

Kitty straightened her shoulders, gripped her bag, and headed down the street for the Long Branch Saloon.

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Doc tiredly switched his heavy black leather bag to the opposite hand and rapped on the bedroom door of Bill Pence’s newest girl, rubbing his gritty eyes because he’d been up half the night with the feverish Fordham baby.  Doc was put out because this girl had been in Dodge two whole days and he hadn’t been able to examine her yet.  By golly, he sure hoped she hadn’t been working already.

Bill prided himself on running a clean house, and he and Doc managed that together by regular exams of the girls for any signs whatsoever of disease.  Any girl who had the slightest symptoms of the pox or clap would not be allowed to work until Doc had treated her and made sure she was clean as a whistle, inside and out.  Long Branch customers appreciated the care that Doc Adams gave Bill’s girls and patronized his establishment more frequently than some of the other houses that weren’t so careful about the health and hygiene of the employees.

Doc knocked again, this time a little more insistently.  Maybe she was still in bed.  Saloon girls tended to sleep awful late according to most folks’ standards since they worked long, grueling shifts until the wee hours of the morning. 

Finally, the door creaked open and he was immediately taken by the sight of sleepy, sapphire blue eyes and tousled, long, vibrant red hair woven into a loose, thick braid over the girl’s shoulder.  She didn’t appear to be more than twenty or so, especially without all the paint Doc knew the girls typically wore.  She looked young and sweet and beautiful and could’ve been a rancher’s daughter, if he didn’t already know better.   But when she spoke, her low, musical, sad voice hinted at some of the world-weariness that plagued women who sold their bodies for a living.  “You the Doc?” she asked as she stifled a yawn. 

He shook himself from his reverie and greeted her amiably.  “That I am, young lady.  How are you today?”

Rubbing drowsily at her eyes, she stretched luxuriously like a cat.  “I’m fine, Doc.  Come on in.  That’s the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a month of Sundays.”  She closed the door behind him and gestured to the still unmade bed.  “I’m sure sorry about the mess.  Bill told me you were comin’ today and I’m afraid I overslept a little.”

Doc set his bag on the bureau.  “So when was the last time you were examined properly by a doctor?”

“Not since before I left Abilene.  We got looked at pretty regular by the doc there, too, although I wouldn’t say that it was all that proper.”  She gazed at him evenly.  “But I haven’t worked since I got here.  Nothin’ besides servin’ beer and whiskey downstairs.  Honest, Doc.”

“Good girl.”  Doc smiled in relief.  He shook his head.  “I’m sorry, where’s my manners?”  He held out a hand to her.  “Everybody in these parts just calls me Doc. Doc Adams.  And you are?”  He thought she looked as delicate as a china doll, but he knew there must be some of that red-headed fire in her blood, or she wouldn’t have made it this far in life relatively unscathed.

“Kitty.  Kitty Russell.”  She returned his handshake and smiled genuinely. 

“Kitty.  Well, that’s a pretty name.  I’m glad you’ve had this sort of examination in the past, Kitty, ‘cause you’ll know pretty much what to expect.”  Doc removed his suit coat and laid it neatly beside his bag.

Kitty sighed and untied her dressing gown sash.  “Yeah, Doc, I know exactly what to expect.  Let’s get started.”  And with that, she let the gown slide off her shoulders and puddle in the floor.  Kitty Russell stood before him stark naked.  Doc’s mouth dropped open. 

Kitty patiently waited while Doc’s eyebrows rose to the heavens.  She asked calmly, “You want me on the bed, Doc?”

“Wh…why…” he stuttered, until he’d gathered his senses and grabbed her gown off the floor, hurriedly draping it around her shoulders and pulling it firmly closed in front. 

Kitty looked astonished.  “What on earth’s the matter, Doc?”

Doc spluttered, “Are you trying to give an old man like me a heart attack, young lady?”

“Whattya mean, Doc?”

“I mean…”  He rolled his eyes heavenward and amended, “Oh, never you mind what I mean, but let’s go about this slow and easy, honey.  You don’t have to strip down to your altogether for me.  Let’s put you on the bed and cover you with a sheet, alright?”

“Well, I know you probably wanna check me first before you take your pay in trade.”  She sat on her bed and looked up at him expectantly, rubbing the loose end of her braid absently on her cheek.

“In trade?!” 

Kitty was afraid Doc’s eyes were gonna bulge right outta his head.  And his face was becoming a distinctly unhealthy shade of red.  “Well, yeah.”  Kitty looked puzzled.  “That’s the way all the other doctors I’ve gone to have worked things.  I ain’t got much money, Doc.  I just moved here, remember?”

“What in tarnation?!  You mean those doctors...”  Doc’s expression was thunderous.  “…partook of your services in order to be compensated for your examination fee?”

“We didn’t have much of a choice, to tell the honest truth.”  He watched as she picked at a raveling thread on her dressing gown seam.

“Well, if that don’t beat all…”  Doc scrubbed furiously at his gray mustache.  “Kitty, things aren’t like that here in Dodge, I can assure you.”

“So, you mean you don’t want me, Doc?”  She gazed up at him doubtfully with those big, melting blue eyes.

Thoughtfully, he stared down at this vulnerable girl, now propped on her elbow on the messy bed, knees drawn up protectively.  “Now, Kitty, I may be a little past my prime, but I ain’t dead yet.”  He pressed his lips together and took a calming breath through his nose.  “But I am your doctor, most certainly not your customer, and it would be most unprofessional…”

Her expression was perplexed.  He wondered what kinda people she’d been exposed to her whole life, if she thought this was the way normal people acted.  He took off his hat and placed it on the bureau, ran his fingers through his wiry gray hair in frustration until it stood on end, then amended, “Never mind…   I’m here to take care of you, honey.  Are you ready for your exam?  I just need you to lie on the bed and relax.  Let’s put this sheet over you.  Now, while I go over here and wash my hands, I want you to slide down all the way to the end of the bed for me, alright, sweetheart?” 

He wasn’t sure why, but he was already drawn to this beauty who must be all alone in the world with no one to watch after her.  He was going to make sure at least one person started looking after her welfare, even if it was just to make sure she didn’t die of a horrible sexually transmitted disease before her time.

“This sure ain’t how Doc Travers did things.”  She laid back and sighed.  “Is it gonna hurt, Doc?”

Doc was busy scrubbing his hands at the wash basin and muttering furiously to himself about so-called doctors who oughta be shot by gum.  Then he realized Kitty was speaking to him.  “What’d you say, Kitty?” he called over his shoulder.

“I said, ‘Is it gonna hurt?’  You don’t do things like my last doctor.”

“I most certainly hope not,” he muttered sourly, then turned around, drying his hands on a towel.  He walked toward her slowly, reaching down to tug the sheet even higher, all the way up under her chin, then he patted her sheet-covered shoulder in satisfaction.  He spoke more to himself than to her.  

“You’re young enough to be my daughter.”  Her pretty face and sweet, trusting smile made his heart ache for what he knew this girl had already been through in her young life as he sighed, “No honey, I’ll try not to hurt you a bit.  I just wanna make sure you’re okay.  And to make sure you stay okay, I want you to get regular examinations, you hear me?”

“Yes, Doc, I hear ya’.”

“Okay then…” he answered as he pulled up a straight-backed chair to the end of the bed, rolling his sleeves higher.  “Young lady, I need you to slide down towards me.”  Kitty watched his head disappear behind the sheet and rolled her eyes.

tbc

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Kitty's Story, Ch. 4 "Love of My Life"

Author's Note:  This is not a new chapter.

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I have actually written brand new material for Ch. 3, a scene containing the first meeting of Doc and Kitty.  In the process of revision, I moved the remainder of the old Ch. 3 into a new Ch. 4. I hope that explanation didn't just confuse the issue more.  But I do hope you enjoy the scene with Doc and Kitty.

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Yancy Sawyer grabbed Kitty by the hair and brutally jerked her head back.  “You think you’re too high and mighty for me, whore?”

She cried out, struggling against him, as she tried to wrench his fingers out of her tangled hair.  “Let…me…go!”  She viciously kicked at his shins and connected as he yelped, releasing her.

Dashing across the room in her corset and pantaloons, she grabbed the nearest thing she could find, a china vase on the dresser. 

Yancy, way beyond liquored up, was a terrible mean drunk.  He snarled, “You come ‘ere!  I’m gonna teach you a lesson!”   

“Don’t you come near me!”  She held the vase aloft threateningly.

He ignored her warning and came after her, and Kitty hurled the vase at him as hard as she could.  He ducked, and it hit the wall with a splintering crash. 

“You little hellcat, now you’re gonna pay…”  Yancy backed Kitty into a corner, grabbing her by the throat, while she clawed at his face.

The door smashed open and Marshal Matt Dillon thundered, “Hold it right there, Sawyer!”

Kitty’s face was turning red as Yancy refused to let go and continued trying to choke the life out of the Long Branch’s newest girl.  Matt Dillon strode across the room and grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck, jerked him off Kitty and backhanded him fiercely.  When he stumbled back, Matt’s eyes squinted murderously and he drew back his huge fist, smashing into Yancy’s jaw only once before he dropped limply to the floor, knocked out cold.   

Kitty held her throat and gasped for air, collapsing against the wall and beginning to slide down.  Matt Dillon rushed to grab her before she fell.  She was weak-kneed from fright and lack of oxygen, and Matt effortlessly scooped her up in his arms and set her on the bed, watching her worriedly while she caught her breath. 

“I’m…” she stumbled, attempting to calm her nerves and slow her breathing, “I’m all right, Marshal.”

“Are you sure?” he questioned, his voice rising anxiously.

“I’m sure.”  She looked at him and gave an uncertain smile.  “Just a little shook up is all.”

Matt suddenly registered Kitty’s Russell’s state of undress and grabbed her dressing gown from where it hung on the frame at the foot of the bed.  He hastily wrapped it around her, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.  Kitty’s face flushed in response.  She hadn’t meant for their first meeting to be like this.   She’d been at the Long Branch less than a week, and already she was causing trouble.  And now she’d met Marshal Dillon for the first time in her underthings.  Stars above.

Matt grabbed a straight-backed chair from against the wall and sat down in front of her, his face a mask of concern.  Her stomach fluttered when he tentatively reached one hand toward the ugly red marks on her throat.

At that moment, a relatively slight man with a limp burst into the room crying, “Mr. Dillon, is everthing okay?”

The Marshal sighed.  “Yeah, Chester, I think she’s gonna be alright.  I want you to haul Sawyer down and lock ‘im up, and then go to Doc’s and ask him to come up here and take a look at Miss Russell.”

“You know my name?” she asked, privately pleased.

“Well, sure…”  He looked at his hands in his lap. I make it my business to know what’s going on in Dodge.” 

Matt averted his eyes as Kitty pulled her gown more tightly around her.  Chester motioned for a cowboy out on the balcony to come help him drag Sawyer down the stairs. Chester called out, “I’ll send Doc on his way purty quick, Miss.”

“Oh, really, you don’t have to.  I’ll be just fine…”

Marshal Dillon interrupted, “Miss Russell, do it for me, will ya’?  It’ll make me feel better if Doc checks you over.”

Chester tipped his hat to her with one hand, dragging the unconscious Yancy Sawyer with the other, as Marshal Dillon cleared his throat nervously.  “Miss Russell, I’m sorry that you’ve had such a bad experience, what with you bein’ so new in town and all.”

Kitty involuntarily reached out and touched his hand, crying, “Oh no, Marshal!  I like Dodge just fine.  Why, in the last place I worked, the law wouldn’t have helped me at all.”  Her troubled blue eyes sought his and held them.  “I sure appreciate your help.  Lots of lawmen don’t think girls like me are worth troubling themselves over…”  Her voice trailed off and she realized she was still touching his hand.  She swore her fingertips were tingling where they touched him, but she regretfully pulled away for propriety’s sake.

Marshal Dillon suddenly realized he was still wearing his hat in the presence of a lady, and he hurriedly removed it.  “I’m sorry, Miss, about everything.”  He nodded firmly.  “You’ll find things different around Dodge.”

“Kitty.”

“What?”

“My name is Kitty Russell.  You can just call me Kitty.”  She gave him a warm smile.  “Thank you again, Marshal.”

“Uh…Matt.”  The Marshal flushed pink again as he stood.  “Just call me Matt, Kitty.  I’d like that.”

“I’d like that, too,” she breathed as she looked up at this tall, strong man who was so utterly kind to her, in spite of who she was.  Funny, she didn’t feel like just a whore when she was talking to him. 

He walked to the door and put his hand on the knob, then on second thought turned to call out to her, “Kitty, I wish you’d steer clear of Yancy Sawyer from now on.  Just for me, okay?”

“Okay, Matt.  I’ll be more careful next time.”

“I’ll see you around?”

“I hope so.  See ya’ later, Matt?”

“See ya’ later, Kitty.”

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“Merry Christmas, Chester.  Merry Christmas, Magnus.  I hope to see you again tomorrow.”  Kitty’s blue eyes danced as she spoke.

Magnus answered sincerely, “Oh, Miss Kitty, you kin be sure of it.  Marshal Dillon, I hope we’ll be a’seein’ you, too.”

Matt shook Magnus’ hand and answered, “I don’t see why not.  ‘Night, and Merry Christmas, Magnus…Chester…”

Kitty grasped the rough-hewn man’s hand at the last moment and pulled him close, murmuring in his ear, “Thank you for saving my life tonight, Magnus.”

Magnus ducked his head and gave a tiny smile.  “Yer very welcome, Miss Kitty.”  Chester and Magnus doffed their hats and headed out into the cold evening, swirling snowflakes drifting in through the open door.

Matt Dillon was the last remaining patron left after the Christmas Eve dance.  He’d stayed on at the Long Branch, patiently waiting as guests left one by one, to make sure Kitty was alright.  It’d been an unsettling night for the saloon girl, with all the hateful accusations and threats hurled at her by Lucifer Jones.  Matt only wished he’d been here to help protect her when the crazy old man pointed a gun at her.  But Chester’s brother Magnus had done a fine job all on his own, a pretty ingenious strategy, he thought, because he’d managed to disarm Lucifer without anyone getting hurt. 

Kitty had bucked up after it was all over and carried on with the party, just like nothing was wrong.  But Matt could tell she was still upset.  He could see it in her eyes.  He watched her shiver with the blast of cold air that had blown through the open door, and Matt removed his jacket, placing it around Kitty’s bare shoulders.  “You sure do look pretty tonight, Kitty.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with an arched brow and downturned mouth.  “Lucifer Jones said I was pretty, too, and that’s why I needed to die.”

“Aw, Kitty,” Matt grimaced, placing his hands on her shoulders.  “Lucifer’s a crazy old coot.  Don’t pay him any mind.”

Kitty crossed her arms and pulled Matt’s jacket more tightly around her.  She looked up at the ceiling and laughed mirthlessly.  Her breath hitched in her chest as she blurted out, “Maybe a lot of people think the same way Lucifer Jones does.” 

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”  She looked down at the scarred wooden floor, refusing to meet his eyes.  “A lot of people think I’m just a…”

“Listen to me, young lady.”  He placed a finger under her chin and drew her head up to face him.  “I don’t wanna hear any more of this talk, you hear me?”

He could see her eyes filling with tears, and it made his heart constrict in his chest.  “Kitty Russell, you are…”  Matt Dillon was not a man who was able to share his feelings easily.  He struggled to find the words.  “You’re a fine woman.  You are one of the most decent, caring…”  He sighed.  “…good people I know.”

Kitty’s eyes widened at Matt’s admission.  She took his big, calloused hand in hers.  “Thank you, Matt.”  Her eyes shone happily.

“Kitty, I…”

“Matt, I know I shouldn’t be letting that man upset me so.  I’m sorry.”  Kitty took a deep breath and steadied herself.  “Look up.”

Matt peered up and saw a bundle of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.  His face flushed pink all the way down to his collar, and his mouth dropped open.  Kitty reached up to slide her arms around Matt’s neck, pressing her body close to his, soaking up his warmth.  She felt his intake of breath as she brushed her lips against his ear and whispered, “Thank you for always being there for me, Matt Dillon.  Nobody’s ever been so kind to me in my whole life.”

Taking a step back, she slipped Matt’s jacket off and handed it to him with one finger.  He wordlessly watched her mount the stairs slowly, giving him one last backwards glance before she disappeared into her room.  “See ya’ later, Matt.”

Matt looked longingly up at her and called, “See ya’ later, Kitty.”

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Kitty sat hunched over the rolltop desk in the back room of the Long Branch, intently scratching figures in Bill Pence’s books. 

Bill trod quietly in and stood watching over her shoulder.  “You know I’ll pay you extra this week for all the figuring you been doin’ for me, Kitty.”

She jumped at the sound of his voice.  She hadn’t even realized Bill was standing behind her.  “Thanks, Bill, I’ll be lookin’ forward to that extra cash.”  She chewed on her pencil as she examined a column of figures, then looked up at him.  “Do you realize you’re paying twenty percent more for your top shelf whiskey than you should be?  There’s a drummer from Tennessee who comes to Dodge every so often and he’ll sell it to you for a whole lot less.  You want me to talk to him?”

“Why, sure, Miss Kitty.  That’d be just fine!”  Bill pressed his lips into a thin line and pulled a chair up next to her.  “You sure do have a head for business, young lady.  You know that?”

“I guess…”

“Trust me, you do.  You’ve only been takin’ care of my books a short while and already you’ve saved me a passel of money.”

“Well, that’s what you’re payin’ me for, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I am, but I sure could use your help around here some more.”

“Bill, I already work here every…”

He put a hand on her arm.  “Kitty, you’re too smart for that.  You’re not like all the other girls...”

Kitty couldn’t meet his eyes.  She stared down at the pages of his financial ledger. 

“You know what I mean!  You need to do somethin’ else.  You’re too good to be throwing your life away livin’ like…”  His voice quickly died out.

Kitty frowned at him.  “Well, Bill, I don’t have much of a choice of occupations, now, do I?  I can’t exactly march up to the bank and demand a paying job there.  They don’t hire women.  Not many places do!”

“I know, Kitty, but I been thinkin’.”  He rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin.  “You know, it’s all I can do to keep this place runnin’ by myself.”

“Runnin’ a saloon twenty-four hours a day keeps ya’ pretty busy.”

“You ain’t kiddin’.”  Bill stood up and paced the small room.

“Well, what can I do to help?”

“How’d you like to be partners?”

Kitty’s mouth dropped open.

“Fifty-fifty.  I know there ain’t hardly any women business owners in town, but I know just from watchin’ ya’ you could do it.  I need more time for myself, Kitty, to start a family maybe.  I feel like I live here at the Long Branch!”

“But, Bill, that’s an awful lot of money I don’t have.”

“I bet you’ve got some money saved back already, Kitty.  You’ve been doing a good business since you got here, and I imagine you could save the rest purty quick.”

“But, Bill…”

“Just think about it, Kitty.  I don’t know there’s another person I’d trust as a partner.  I haven’t known you too awful long, but I know I can trust ya’.  Don’t say ‘no’ yet.  Just think on it, okay?”

“Alright, Bill.  I’ll think about it.”

Bill patted her on the shoulder and walked out the office door whistling optimistically.  Kitty sat still for a very long time, chewing her pencil, her head fairly swimming with all the new notions and dreams Bill Pence had planted in her mind.  Imagine me, she thought, a business owner…

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Kitty drew her aunt’s knitted shawl snugly around her shoulders in the early spring evening chill.  She sat in a peeling porch swing in front of the ranch house bequeathed to her in death by Solomon V. Pierce, an uncle she didn’t even realize she had until he was already gone.  Kitty held in her hand her aunt Océane’s worn leather journal, reading one of the last entries Océane ever made, because she had died soon after in childbirth.

I am carrying a girl.  I can tell.  Solomon laughs and claims he thinks our child is a boy, but I can feel her inside of me.  My child is most certainly a girl.  My greatest wish is that she never have to live through the hell that I have known.  I want her to be able to live clean and decent, and not be compelled to sell her body to stay alive.  No woman should have to do that.   I want her to be able to make her own choices and decisions and not be forced into anything in this man’s world.  This will be the legacy that I hand down to my girl child.

Kitty shivered and looked up on the hill at her aunt’s and uncle’s graves, and sent a silent prayer of thanks to the heavens for her family and the gift they’d given her.  It wasn’t too late for her to live decent, she thought.  Cole Yankton had started her out on that soul-crushing journey, but she didn’t have to continue.  With the money from the sale of the ranch, she would be able to purchase half-interest from Bill Pence in the Long Branch.  She would be a business woman.  She would make her own decisions.  She would live her own life.

Matt Dillon opened the screen door and sidled over next to her on the swing, peeking back at the window to make sure Chester or Doc weren’t spying on them.  He slid an arm around Kitty’s shoulders and brushed his lips against her temple.  “What are you thinking about?” he murmured, and she could feel his warm breath on her skin.  Gooseflesh rose on her whole body, and it sure wasn’t from the cold. 

“Oh, nothin’, Cowboy.”  She smiled up at him.  “Except, maybe…you think you might be able to sneak in my room again tonight?”

“I’ll have to wait until Chester and Doc are both sawin’ logs.  It might take a while.”

She raised a delicate brow at him.  “Oh, you’ll be worth the wait.”  She rose, clasping the leather journal to her bosom, and headed for the front door.  “See ya’ later, Matt…”

“See ya’ later, Kitty…”

End

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Kitty's Story, Ch. 2 "Strangle the Heart"

Kitty Russell felt a little lightheaded as she slowly walked down the Kansas City boardwalk away from the ice cream parlor window.  The sight of that sweet little girl eating a bowlful of creamy, melting peach ice cream had made Kitty’s mouth water and her stomach cramp painfully, it was so completely empty.  She hadn’t eaten since she’d hurriedly left Jefferson City on the train, using the small amount of money she’d managed to hide from Cole a little bit at a time in a torn stocking down at the bottom of her squeaky bureau drawer.  Just for a rainy day, she’d told herself. 

That was two days ago.  She was heartsick after catching Cole red-handed betraying her and now she really had nowhere to go and no money to get there.  Suddenly feeling overwhelmingly dizzy, her vision blurred and she tried to catch herself from falling on the boardwalk post.  Strong arms caught her firmly, and as she looked up, her vision clearing, she saw a kind gentleman’s face covered in gray whiskers.  He looked like somebody’s grandfather, she thought woozily, wishing she had a grandfather of her own to lean on. 

“Miss, are you alright?” the man asked worriedly.

“Yes…”  Kitty shook her head to clear it further and protested, “Why, I’m just fine, thank you.  Just got…a little dizzy is all.”

“May I escort you somewhere?  You are so pale, Miss.”

“Oh, no, really…” she stammered.  “I’m fine.”  She stood up straight and attempted a smile, thinking ironically to herself that she had absolutely no place to which he could escort her.  “See there?  I’m better now.  I thank you very much for your assistance, though.  You’re very kind.”

The gray-haired gentleman looked doubtfully at her, but when she firmly said to him, “Good day to you, sir,” he doffed his hat and walked away, giving a last backward glance over his shoulder as he crossed the deeply rutted street.  Kitty leaned her back against the post wearily and gathered her strength. 

After a few minutes, she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to get a bit of color back in them, then walked down the boardwalk a ways until she came to a raucous, bustling establishment with men spilling outside the swinging front doors.  The men grinned and eyed her with obvious interest while Kitty steeled her nerves.  Straightening her shoulders and holding up her chin, she walked into the Last Chance Saloon to ask the owner for a job. 

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Kitty sat on her small bed, rubbing her aching feet.  A knock sounded on the door frame, as there was only a thin curtain hanging across the opening to her room.  “Come in,” she called wearily. 

A peroxided blonde who worked upstairs with her at this hole-in-the-wall, waterfront saloon sauntered the two whole steps to her bedside.  Calico Stark handed her a bottle of the cheapest whiskey that owner and bartender Rooster Darling carried.  That’s all Kitty could afford, working at a shoddy joint like The Melancholy Mermaid.  She had to start looking for a new job, she thought, watching Calico pick at a hangnail. 

“Damnation!” Calico fussed, examining her now-bleeding finger.

Kitty fell back on the bed, arms outstretched, staring at the water spots on the ceiling. 

Calico cajoled, “You’re gonna share that rotgut with me tonight, ain’t ya?  I run out last night.”

Kitty lifted her head and squinted at Calico.  “Can’t you buy your own?”

“You know I owe five more dollars to the doctor for that ‘percedure’ I had last month, Kitty.  And if I ain’t got no whiskey to soak my sponges in tonight, I might just end up needin’ another ‘percedure’ this month, too.”  Calico frowned meaningfully at her. 

Kitty sighed and rubbed her temples, “Sure, honey, you can have some of mine.”  She shook her head and decided right then that she’d go looking for a new job tomorrow afternoon.  She’d been dead broke when she had arrived in San Francisco from Kansas City a month ago and snapped up the first job she found.  She was trying to put as much distance between her and Cole Yankton as she possibly could.  Maybe her broken heart would mend a little faster in a city that smelled like salt water and sea breezes.  If only.

Kitty closed her eyes and Calico sauntered back out to let her get a little sleep before the evening crowd rolled in.  “Thanks, Kitty.”

Kitty yawned.  “Don’t mention it.” 

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“Kitty, sweetie, there’s a man here to see ya’.” 

She’d just finished up with a paying customer-- the nervous kid pretty much had peach fuzz instead of whiskers--so she was still getting cleaned up.  Disease was rampant among the vulnerable girls in her profession, and they had to take care of themselves to keep from dying way before their time.   Kitty dried her hands, dropped her skirts, and pulled back the curtain.  “Calico, you barely gave me time to…”  Her mouth dropped open. 

“Hello, darlin’,” Cole drawled.   He awkwardly handed her a bouquet of yellow daisies and shuffled his feet nervously.  “I missed you.”

Kitty didn’t know what to say.  She just clutched the flowers to her chest and stammered, “H…hello, Cole.”

“Can I come in?”

She looked behind her and gestured, “There’s not much room.  But you can come and sit down.”  

Kitty straightened the mussed covers and perched primly on her bed while Cole sat gingerly next to her and removed his hat. 

Cole cleared his throat and began uncertainly, “Kitty, I’ve got somethin’ to say to you.”  He gave a little cough.  “I…I was wrong, Kitty.  That girl back in Kansas City didn’t mean anything to me.”

He took Kitty’s hand as she said, “Cole…”

“No, darlin’, I need to tell you this.  I followed you all the way out here from Missouri just to tell you.”

“Oh…” She was astounded to hear he’d come all the way to California looking for her.  What if…

“I love you, Kitty, and I want you back.”  He reached up to caress her cheek with his palm.

“You want me back?” she posed in a quiet voice.

He leaned closer and she breathed in his old familiar scent.  Touching his lips to hers, he kissed her gently, murmuring against her mouth, “Please, darlin’…”

Kitty sat back and took a deep breath.  She looked him in the eyes.  “Cole, you want me back?”

“Yes, Kitty, I surely do.”  He smiled in relief.  “Pack up your things and let me get you out of this place.”

One delicate brow lifted as she unwaveringly proclaimed, “Cole, you can’t have me back.  I don’t think you really do love me.  And I wanna get out of this place, but not bad enough to go back to the way we were.”

His forehead knitted in consternation as he stammered, “But, Kitty…”

“No, ‘buts’, Cole.  I can’t be with you anymore.  I’m a big girl now, and I can take care of myself.”  She stood and held the curtain open.  “I want you to leave now.”

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Kitty leaned on the long, polished wooden bar, absent-mindedly staring at a mounted bull’s head behind Maynard where he worked polishing glasses.  Maynard was a burly, mustachioed bear of a man, a combination bartender/bouncer who helped keep the peace at the Rusty Spur.  The Spur was a considerably nicer saloon than the last dump she’d worked at, all things considered.  It sure was a different sort of clientele here in Abilene, but no less rough around the edges.  Instead of drunken, salty sailors, the place was bursting at the seams with intoxicated, dusty cowboys.

The very night Cole Yankton had come to “take Kitty back,” she had packed her one paltry bag and jumped on the first train out of San Francisco.  She didn’t even tell Calico Sparks she was leaving, but she did place her small bottle of cheap whiskey and the wilted bouquet of daisies outside of Calico’s door as a fond farewell.  She had no intentions of leaving a trail for Cole to follow her again.

Kitty had been working in Texas for six months now.  Six long months.  Abilene was hot and dry.  And the boys who came through here were wild, rough, untamed.  Sometimes brutal.  Especially when they drank too much.  She’d had to call on Maynard for help more than once.  She had the bruises to prove it. 

But that was how she made her living, pleasing men.  She couldn’t be too fussy about how she was treated sometimes.  The sheriff of Abilene turned a blind eye to the young boys’ shenanigans, as he put it.  He didn’t want to run them off, so he pretty much gave them free rein.   And Kitty and the other working girls were the ones who paid the price. 

Kitty felt a stare from across the room.  She turned to find steely gray eyes scrutinizing her, making her shiver involuntarily.  McCray.  That was his name.  He’d been in here three nights in a row now, and a couple of the other girls had already been upstairs with him.  She hoped she wasn’t next, but she wouldn’t turn him down just because he made her nervous.  Besides, she needed the money.

McCray took his time walking across the wooden plank floor to stand beside her, signaling for Maynard to bring him two whiskeys.  Only after he had downed his glass in one stiff movement did he look at her and speak.  “Hey, Red…”  He looked her up and down with his colorless eyes.  “I been watchin’ you.”

“Yeah?”  Kitty sipped her whiskey and added drily, “Is that so?” 

“Yeah, that’s so.”  He slid a hand around her waist and pulled her close, whispering in her ear, “You wanna go upstairs with me?”

She answered back, “That depends.”

“On what?” His hand caressed the small of her back.

Her blue eyes met his unwaveringly.  “On whether you can afford me.”

McCray laughed long and low.  “You are a pistol, little gal, you sure are.”  He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs.  “Come on, Red.  Show me what you got.”

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“I.  Said.  No.” Kitty repeated through clenched teeth for the third time. 

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” McCray retorted, seething with anger.  “You’re a whore, godammit.  I paid you.”

“You didn’t pay me to do that.  I won’t do it.”  She straightened her skirts and hurriedly rebuttoned her dress.

“Who do you think you are?” he spat at her.  “Come ‘ere, Red…”

“No!” She struggled as he gripped her arms and forcibly pulled her body against his.  Kitty stomped his foot as hard as she could with a well-worn boot heel.

“Oww!  Son of a bitch!”  McCray pushed her back on the bed and sprang on top of her, reaching down to pull up her skirts.  “Come on, you little whore, gimme some of that sweet…”

Kitty kneed McCray in the groin and wriggled out from under him as he bent double.  She took the money he’d laid on her dresser and threw the bills, watching them flutter down on top of him as he groaned in pain. 

Walking to the door, she smoothed her hair and threw a glance over her shoulder. “I said 'no'.  And I meant 'no', dammit.” She stalked out the door and headed downstairs to have a drink and to ask Maynard to escort the wayward gentleman out of The Rusty Spur. “I may be a whore,” she thought as she tossed back her whiskey, “but even a whore’s got her limits.”

tbc

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Kitty's Story, Ch. 1 "Slow-Dying Flower"

This fic, a prequel/companion piece for the Set Fire to the Rain series, was inspired in large part by Natalie Merchant’s haunting tune, “My Skin,” and the chapter titles are taken from the lyrics.  Many thanks to singerme who encouraged me when I was afraid I couldn’t do the serious subject matter justice.  This story is intended for mature audiences.

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Kitty Russell trembled as she numbly pulled up her pantaloons and lowered her skirts, straightening painfully to face the battered, cheap dresser that Hank Thompson had unceremoniously bent her over while he took what he wanted.  She was vaguely aware of the noises from the street down below, the sounds of bustling Jefferson City—horse-drawn wagons, men shouting, dogs barking.  Common trollops, hawking their “wares.”  A sob hitched in her chest, but she willfully choked it back.  Attempting in vain to stop shaking, she still couldn’t look Hank in the face.  She could hardly stand to look at her own face in the mirror before her, she was so ashamed and utterly degraded.  Common trollop, the girl in the mirror bitterly spat back at her.

A sharp rap at the door to her room made her jerk, and Hank, buttoning his pants, answered roughly, “Come in…” 

Cole Yankton strolled in.  “Did she do all right for ya’, Hank?”  He squinted as he puffed at his cigarette.

“Yeah, sure, Cole…”  Reaching into his pants pocket, Hank pulled out some money, slapping it into Cole’s outstretched hand.  “I gotta go now.  I’ll see ya’ later, alright?  Maybe at the saloon?”

“Okay, Hank.”  Cole shook Hank’s hand and looked earnestly into his eyes.  “Anytime now, you hear?  Just come see me.”

Hank gave a knowing half-smile as he tucked in his shirt.  “Thanks, Cole.  I’ll do that.”

Hank left, glancing quickly over his shoulder at the pretty young redhead he’d just had for a price.  The door clicked shut hollowly.

Kitty felt hollow inside.  She turned to her lover, the man she’d thought would marry her someday.  “Cole?”  Her eyes were haunted. 

Cole refused to look into those blue eyes.  “See, Kitty?  That wasn’t so bad, was it?  What’d I tell you?  It’s easy money.” 

She reached out trembling arms for him, and he enfolded her in his embrace, patting her back.  “I’ve just had a streak of bad luck.  It’s gotta turn soon, I promise, Kitty.”  She laid her head on his shoulder.  “The money you made today will get me a stake in a game.  I feel like a winner tonight.”

He grasped her shoulders and pulled away from her.  “There’s a game at the Lucky Lady.  I’m going down there now and make sure I get in.  You’ll be alright here by yourself, won’t you?”  Cole didn’t wait for an answer.  He headed for the door, putting on his hat, then as an afterthought reached in his pocket and threw a couple of coins on the bureau.  “Go get you somethin’ to eat.  See ya’ later, darlin’.”

Cole Yankton disappeared, and Kitty sat on the bed alone listening to the clock on the wall ticking loudly, tears streaming silently down her face.  What have I done, she thought.  Whatever have I done?

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It was Kitty’s birthday.  She put on her prettiest dress, the one Cole said matched the color of her eyes, fixed her hair up on top of her head so she’d look older and more sophisticated, and even applied lip rouge, which Cole had insisted she start wearing whenever he began asking her to…to meet his friends and acquaintances up in their room.  He said it made her look older and prettier, too. 

Cole was going to marry Kitty.  Someday soon, he promised.  Just as soon as he’d made enough money.  He’d found her in New Orleans, fatherless, motherless, with no prospects.  Having someone fuss over you like that, Kitty thought, was a wondrous feeling.  Why, she’d never had a man take care of her before.  She’d never even met her father.  So meeting Cole was a godsend. 

She’d been a substitute dealer at a game in Panacea Sykes’ place one night when Pan was short-handed.  After Kitty’s poor mother had died, Pan had taken Kitty in and taught her everything she knew.  Like how to deal cards.  Cole showed up at that game and had apparently been quite taken with the striking young girl with fiery hair and nimble fingers.  He’d made it his mission to sweep her off her feet.  Evidently it had worked, because Kitty had slipped out of Pan’s house in the middle of the night to run away with Cole Yankton and be married.  Only, the marriage part hadn’t come yet.  Cole kept coming up with reasons why they couldn’t do it just yet.  So Kitty waited patiently. 

Just like now.  She sat on the edge of the bed, fluffing the dainty frills on her dress, and glanced up at the clock.  He should have been home by now.  He’d promised to take her out to a nice supper.  She wondered excitedly if he’d gotten her a present.  This was the first birthday they’d celebrated together, so she didn’t know if he’d splurge on such a thing or not. 

Especially since they didn’t have much money.  In fact, about the only income they’d earned lately was when Cole brought those awful men up to see her.  She didn’t know what else to do when he did.  She couldn’t refuse him.  Cole wasn’t making any money at the tables.  They’d likely starve if she didn’t earn them a little cash.  And his luck had to change soon.  She just knew it would.  He promised it would.  And then she wouldn’t have to raise her skirts for Cole’s friends anymore. 

She stood up to look at her hair in the mirror again, smoothing the curls around her face, straightening her hat.  The doorknob rattled and Cole stepped through the door.  Her face lit up as she looked at his reflection in the mirror.  “Cole!  You’re home!  I was beginning to get worried…”  Her expression fell when another figure walked into the room behind him.  She’d never seen this man before.  He looked shy, his head downcast, hat clutched in his sweaty hands. 

“Kitty, darlin’, I’ve brought you a visitor.  We needed a little extra money for tonight, and Tom here’s…”

“Alright, Cole,” she interrupted quickly.  “I’ll do it.  You wait outside.”

She silently removed her hat and gloves and laid them on the dresser, not looking into the strange man’s face.  She didn’t want to know what he looked like, in case she ever met him again on the street…

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It was three in the morning and Kitty lay wide awake fully dressed on top of the bedcovers.  Cole wasn’t home yet.  She’d finished her shift dealing at the Lucky Lady hours ago.  Cole had talked the owner into taking her on for a few hours a week to help pay back Cole’s debts.  She was a pretty good dealer, or so she’d been told, and Cole was pleased because more men got to see his pretty girl when they came into the saloon each night.  It made for more business deals for him to take up to their room later. 

Kitty had gotten so she lived in fear of hearing the door latch click open.  She never knew if he’d come home alone and inebriated to the gills after an evening of bad luck at cards, or accompanied by a strange man he expected her to lift her skirts for, just so they could put food in their mouths the next day.  She couldn’t stand lying here listening to the clock tick any longer.  She was worried he was passed out cold in the Lucky Lady. 

Kitty jumped off the bed at last, straightening her dress and hair and hurrying downstairs and up the street toward the saloon where Cole spent most of his time.  She dodged soggy drunks and filthy puddles in the street, remnants from an earlier evening downpour.  Wrenching her arm away from a well-dressed dandy who tried to proposition her, she scurried in the direction of the saloon. 

She heard Cole before she saw him, his distinctive, easy laugh carrying down the dark alley just ahead of her.  But something was wrong.  She heard a female voice laughing too.  Kitty’s chest clenched tight and her breath grew shallow as she marched toward the disembodied voices.  Now she could hear them moaning in the darkness.  Her boots were getting drenched as she now splashed heedlessly through dirty puddles toward the sound.  She rounded the corner into the alley and there they were, going at it against the brick wall of a saddle shop. 

The girl looked young, very young.  Younger than Kitty.  Kitty froze in her tracks and gasped.  Cole and his lover stopped and jerked their heads her way.  The girl, with long black hair and black eyes to match, hurriedly shook down her skirts and hid behind Cole.  Fastening his pants, Cole gave Kitty a cautious, lazy grin.  “Hey darlin’,” he drawled.  “What’re you doin’ out so late?” 

She honestly didn’t know what to say.  Her heart sank in her chest, and her mouth opened, but no words came out. 

The black-haired girl tugged at Cole’s sleeve.  “That her, Cole?”

Cole quickly shushed her, and a smug smile came over Cole’s face as he spoke soothingly.  “Aw, Kitty darlin’, you know I love ya’….”

The young girl spoke sharply, her face pouting, “But, Cole, you love me!  You told me so!”

Cole put his finger on the girl’s lips and stepped closer to Kitty.  “Come on, darlin’, it won’t happen again, I promise.”

Kitty’s face hardened.  She stepped between the girl and Cole, her voice low and bitter, “Did he tell you he was gonna’ marry you, too?”  She raised a reproving brow and the girl shrank back.  Kitty spat out, “Well, don’t believe it for a second, sister.  You’d better run while you can.  Before you end up just…like…me.”

A slap rang out as Kitty struck Cole across the face.  Kitty marched back down the street toward their room, and never looked back at Cole Yankton.

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