Change of Life
Secrets
one
Matt Dillon walked with a purpose across Front Street. He bounded up the board walk and pushed his way into his office. He slammed the door and slid the deadbolt in place. Quickly, he pulled the shades and then taking two steps, clicked the lock on the side door. Confident he wouldn't be disturbed, he eased his large frame to his desk chair. A satisfied smile spread over his face as he considered what he had finally accomplished. He had in his possession the deed to the Watkins Ranch. It had taken him three years to do so, but finally it was his. To be honest, it wasn't much of a ranch at this point. It would take a lot of work, but it had potential. Despite the fact the place had been vacant for a half dozen years, the house was still a solid structure. A little paint and a woman's touch and the place would make a fine home. His strong features softened. Finally, he was going to be able to offer Kitty Russell something more tangible than that dream of a far off someday – he was going to be able to give her a home and the promise of a future together. He slid his hand into the inside pocket of his leather vest and removed a small velvet box. His large hands fumbled with the delicate fastener before it released its hold. A twinkle glistened in his eyes as he studied the contents. Matt Dillon had kept the ranch and his plans a secret these three years, but the best secret was hidden away in the box. He had in mind starting some fireworks of his own this coming 4th of July.
Dillon inhaled slowly as the recollection of a long ago Independence Day clouded in on his thoughts. He shook his head to clear away the memory, he'd made some mistakes over the years, but he was determined to finally set things right.
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The Dodge City that had once been known as the Gomorrah of the Plains had now become almost respectable. Churches, schools and stores were replacing the whorehouses and wild saloons of the early years. From 1875 through 1885 Dodge City had been the largest cattle market in the world. But things had changed in the last two years. The railroads now reached to Texas, and the cattlemen no longer needed to drive their beef to Kansas. Farmers were fencing in the open range and planting a new crop that had been introduced by a religious group of immigrants from Russia called Mennonites. This new variety of winter wheat, identified as Turkey Red was planted in the fall instead of the spring, making it less susceptible to diseases and insects.
All this meant that life had become a little bit easier and far more predictable for the Marshal of Dodge City, Kansas.
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Sitting at her dressing table, Kitty Russell put the finishing touches on her hair securing the elaborate coiffure with a pair of strategically placed tortoise shell combs, Matt would be coming soon to take her out to dinner and she smiled at her reflection in anticipation. She allowed herself the luxury of appreciating her own beauty. Like an artist's canvas with the work nearly complete she was content with the results. Perhaps she would never be a masterpiece but the hues and textures, which had colored her days, made the portrait memorable.
She glanced at the photograph to her right, before picking it up. Even after all this time the mere image of Matt Dillon was enough to set her heart racing. They had always been suited, the one to the other. Passion, the hallmark of their early years had matured to a love deeper and far more fulfilling than a mere act of sex. That wasn't to say their physical relationship had deteriorated over the years, the opposite in fact had happened. Urgency had been exchanged for an ardent knowledge of what the other wanted and needed.
Kitty gently set the picture back in its place. She'd have the real thing to admire shortly. She was about to rise when a strong spasm in her stomach seized her by surprise. She'd been having them off and on all day, but this one took hold harder than its predecessors and she inhaled deeply several times before the pain was gone. A clammy sweat beaded her forehead and she felt hot and cold at the same time. Needing fresh air, she slowly got up from the dressing table and walked to the open window. Below her, flags and streamers were already decorating the town. A large banner was strung across Front Street, advertising the annual `Dodge City Independence Day Celebration,' and red, white and blue bunting was draped from balconies and porches.
Kitty Russell wasn't the kind of woman to dwell on what might have been, and what could never be, but it was harder at this time of year. In that moment of weakness ghosts from the past invaded her consciousness, "Thirteen." She said aloud. "Thirteen years ago." Turning from the window she looked again to the picture of Dillon on the dressing table and sighed releasing the painful memory. She lengthened her spine and straightened her neck before grabbing her gloves and handbag. She left her room shutting the door softly behind her.
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Standing at the bar waiting for her, the lawman swirled the whiskey around in his glass and then slowly sipped it. He knew this time of year hit her hard. Not that she complained, it was just that look in her eyes, or the way he would catch her suddenly glancing off into space, her body tense and distant. The thought of her hurt brought heartache to him; he refilled his glass and swallowed the contents in one gulp.
His eyes narrowed, as a memory became a clear image. From an innocence born of youth, life had seemed so perfect that long ago spring, they'd never been happier before or since.
Dillon gave rein to the memory hoping in doing so he could lessen its pull. It was early in spring that they'd volunteered to take care of Jeb and Mary Walker's infant son while the young parents took a second honeymoon. Jeb and Matt's shared history had gone way back. They'd served together in the war and deputied under the same Sheriff in Texas. Both men moved to Kansas within the same year. Jeb had taken a job as Sheriff in Wichita, there he'd met and fallen in love with Mary. "It's me or the badge," the young woman had told him. Jeb had chosen Mary. Matt and Kitty had traveled to Wichita for the wedding where Dillon stood up as his friend's best man. Never had Matt experienced such love all around him, Jeb and Mary's love for each other, the friendship he had with Jeb and the special feelings he had for Kitty.
True to his word, Jeb gave up the badge and the newlyweds bought a farm, within the first year they had a baby, and named him Matthew. Even now, all these years later Dillon still felt a jolt at the thought of the baby who had been his godson. He and Kitty had been there for the Christening. He awkwardly held the new baby in his arms and marveled at the tiny size. "By golly, he's a little mite."
Mary Walker had replied with her usual good humor, "He didn't seem so small a few weeks ago." Her words embarrassed Matt, but Kitty had looked at Mary with frank admiration, and had listened with rapt curiosity as Jeb and Mary shared details of the baby's birth.
Kitty had been standing at Matt's side waiting eagerly for her turn to hold the baby, finally she said, "Okay Godfather, it's time to give the Godmother a chance at that baby." Gingerly he handed the little one to her waiting arms, "Watch his head." He had warned.
He needn't have worried for Kitty Russell had a natural instinct where babies were concerned that surprised even him. She carried little Matt to Mary's rocking chair and sat down, placing the baby on her knees in front of her and supporting his back and head with her arms and hands. She cooed sweet baby nothings to the little one. The infant studied her closely before rewarding her with one of life's purest miracles, a baby's first smile.
It had been Kitty's suggestion the following spring, that Jeb and Mary go away for a week and she would tend to the baby and the chores. The crops were in the field and there was a neighbor who had offered to help with the heavy work. By this time baby Matt was a year old and off breast milk so Kitty was sure she could handle things. It was a sheer whim that Matt Dillon had offered to go with her.
For that one week thirteen years ago they had had everything - a farm, a home and a perfect little baby. Each day of that week was a gift and Matt and Kitty were wise enough to realize it.
Matt thought back to the first morning, he remembered waking up to find Kitty sleeping beside him, how pretty she had looked as the shadows of night lifted. He had propped himself up on an elbow to watch her. At the Long Branch, he'd been used to seeing her in fancy negligees, but here she wore a white cotton nightgown with long sleeves and buttons right up to the neckline. For some reason he couldn't explain she'd never been so desirable. He had smiled to himself thinking for once he had her all to himself with all the time in the world to enjoy it. Carefully he'd rolled on top of her, resting the bulk of his weight on his arms. Leaning forward he whispered in her ear. "It's time to get up and feed this hungry cowboy Ma'am." Her eyes opened to find him face to face. The pressure of his body on hers became more intimate. Her reply was husky, "Yup, something tells me you've worked up quite an appetite." He lowered his lips to hers, his hands holding her hands, fingers laced together. They gave into the sweetness of the moment, eager bodies keeping a rhythmic pace with heartbeat. Rolling over to the side his fingers began the work of releasing the buttons of her gown.
She was the first to hear the baby's crying. Her body stiffened in his arms. With a low moan Dillon ordered, "Just be real quiet, maybe he'll go back to sleep." But he didn't and the crying became louder.
"He's probably wet, I'll change his diaper, and maybe he'll settle down after that." She ventured, climbing out of bed. With a sigh the frustrated lawman watched her leave the room, he plumped the pillows behind him and leaned back, listening to the sounds coming from the baby's room. He'd grinned as he heard Kitty talking to the blond haired, blue eyed baby. "How's my big boy this morning?" she cooed. He could hear the sounds of a game of baby peek-a-boo and the child's delighted giggles after each `boo'.
Finally he'd heard the soft padding of her footsteps returning down the hall and he thought; `now it's this big boy's turn.' But she had brought the baby with her. "He wants his bottle," she explained as she placed the fussy baby in Matt's arms. "He's just not going to settle down again without it."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Amuse him Cowboy, sing him a song, or tell him a story."
His clumsy efforts only made little Matt cry harder, in near panic Dillon had shouted, "Kitty what's taking so long?" When she didn't answer, he realized he had been left to his own devices. From some far off place in his memory he recalled a tune his mother had sung. Matt Dillon was not given to humming a tune, much less singing the words, but when Kitty returned with the bottle, he was singing to the delight of Baby Matt. Kitty had stood in the doorway listening to his rendition, "Shoo fly don't bother me, shoo fly don't bother me, shoo fly don't bother me for I belong to somebody."
She crawled back into the bed and Matt had handed the baby to her. Settling the little boy in her arms she gave him the bottle. Dillon had watched in amazement as the baby's chubby little hand reached up to gently pat Kitty's face, and his little mouth smiled even as he sucked on the nipple. The innocent sweetness of that moment still tugged at his heart.
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Matt Dillon hadn't milked a cow in years; Jeb's prized Guernsey was obviously aware of that as she had eyed him suspiciously, it had taken a while before they formed an understanding. He'd finally achieved a measure of success and was headed to the springhouse milk pail in hand.
Kitty with the baby on her hip was trying to hang wet diapers on the line to dry. Matt put the milk pail down and took the baby from her to make her job a little easier. He'd whistled at the long line of diapers flapping in the breeze. "How many of those does he go through?" Dillon had asked.
She stopped hanging the diapers for a moment to grin at him, "Well, near as I can figure it, it's about two diapers to every one bottle of milk." Dillon whistled again. "Well, I'd better get this stuff up to the springhouse, wouldn't want to put a damper on his routine." With milk pail in one hand and Baby Matt in the other he had made his way up to the springhouse.
The day had been full, it had been filed with the ordinary tasks of keeping a farm running - pigs to slop, chickens to feed, pens to clean. He barely had time for a noon meal before he was back out to do more chores.
He figured Kitty's day had been just as busy, baking bread, washing clothes, weeding the garden and running after Baby Matt. They sat down to a cold supper that night topped off with an apple cake Kitty had managed to bake that afternoon while the baby napped. "Miss Kitty, this wouldn't happen to be piss apple would it?" he'd asked recalling the first apple cake she'd ever made for him, and earned a hearty laugh from her in reply. Little Matt looking at the happy grownups had joined in their merriment with giggles of his own.
The final task of the night had involved a bath for the baby. Dillon and the toddler sat together on the floor, Matt carefully building a block tower and the baby gleefully knocking it down. Meanwhile, Kitty had prepared the bath. She'd heated the water to just the right temperature then poured it into the little tub. "Okay, get his clothes off and bring him in." She'd called from the kitchen. This was a task which proved easier said than done. The little boy squirmed and wiggled, he went limp as a noodle and stiff as a board and finally made his naked escape from the lawman. Matt found him crawling under the bed, scooting to the farthest corner where giggling, he refused to come out.
"Kitty!" Dillon called. "Kitty I need you!"
She ran up the stairs in a panic wondering what could have happened. She entered the room to find Matt on his hands and knees trying to coax the baby out from under the bed. She had to bite her lip to
keep from laughing out loud.
Finally the bath had been accomplished, soaking all three of them in the process.
The day had ended on the front porch swing, his godson sleeping in his arms, sucking contentedly on his thumb, Kitty drowsy at his side, her head pillowed against his shoulder. The swing kept time with the chorus of crickets and cicadas and Matt Dillon said a prayer of thanks for the simple blessing of a day well lived.
It had been less than a month later that they had received word that Mary and the baby were dead.