The Last Stage

One

Kingston Sharlow leaned heavily against the door frame of the weather-beaten cabin; his craggy eyes squinted into the setting sun. He was waiting and watching for riders he knew would never come. The cold wind blowing in his face numbed his senses but did little to deaden his painful memories. Four sons were gone, rotting away in cheap pine coffins planted deep in the unforgiving soil of boot hill. A sorrowful wince grabbed his features and froze them in place. The pride and love he'd felt for those boys had been replaced by an emotion just as powerful – hate.

Elmer Sharlow studied his father, and thought how the old man had aged over the last year. He moved slower, talked less and had a disagreeable habit of ignoring folks when they talked to him, "Pa, you're a letting in all the cold! Come on in now and shut the door." The old man didn't move and finally Elmer walked over and led him away from the opening. He gave him a gentle shove toward the one good chair the shack possessed. "Set on down Pa.," he ordered while pouring a shot of whiskey into a tin cup. He placed the cup in his father's hand. "Drink up Pa, it's Christmas." Kingston moved the cup to his mouth and drank the contents with the jerky actions of a mechanical toy in need of winding.

Wally Sharlow, the youngest of the boys, barely seventeen, stood by the cook stove trying to take advantage of whatever heat the dilapidated appliance could throw off. His eyes traveled from his father to his older brother. His unspoken question was answered by a slight shrug of his shoulders and a shake of Elmer's head.

Stepping forward, Wally took the matter into his own hands, "Pa, doncha think, once this here snow lets up, we ought be heading on home? It's been pert near a year since we seen Ma, I got me a hankering fer some of her home cooked vittles."

At the mention of his wife, Sharlow looked up, his head nodded slowly and his eyes seemed to brighten. "Be good to see the old woman again," he agreed. He took notice of his surroundings as he glanced around the room lingering for a long moment to study his two surviving sons. When he spoke again, his voice had changed, "but first, we got us a lawman to kill."

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Matt Dillon opened one eye and then the other as he felt the weight shift on the other side of the mattress. He heard Kitty's slight grunt as she rolled herself out of bed.

"Again?" he asked.

"Again." She answered.

He resisted the urge to chuckle as he watched her pad barefooted out of the room and down the hall to the commode closet. He allowed his mind the luxury of replaying the past evening's celebrations. It had been a perfect Christmas considering the events and ordeals, which had led up to the occasion. He had kept a promise to himself and danced with Kitty. True there had been no fancy steps, but their bodies had swayed in time to the gentle music's sweet rhythm. Later Festus had helped Kitty extinguish the candles on the Christmas tree, while Doc tucked Christopher in bed before retiring to his own. Kitty had been weary but undeniably satisfied with the day. She had pushed his chair down the hall humming a Christmas tune. She had stopped mid-hum when they entered their room and she noticed the cot she'd been sleeping on for the past month was missing.

He'd grinned at her questioning expression, "I thought it was time you joined me in this bed again Mrs. Dillon. The nights are getting mighty cold without you."

She'd taken a long time getting ready for bed, changing into her nightgown behind the screen. When she finally did lie down beside him, she'd held her body rigid. His impatient hands had explored her expanded contours, discovering the delightful changes the past month had brought. But, Kitty seemed almost shy with him, a fact he'd found frankly puzzling. In all the years he'd known her she had never been modest about her body, especially with him. It had been one of the things about her that excited him the most; finally he asked her, "What's wrong Kitty? Are you tired? Would you like me to leave you alone?"

She hesitated and he could tell she was weighing her answer, "Oh Matt, it's just that… I'm so big now, how can you find me attractive, at least in that way?"

He had pulled her close to him and whispered in her ear. "Lady you're bringing me back to life." They must have been the words she needed to hear, because he'd felt her body melt into his as she accepted the gift his hands offered.

His face still held a satisfied smile when she padded back into the room. The springs under the mattress squeaked and groaned as she lay back down trying to find a comfortable position. "You okay?" Matt asked.

"Um hmm," she answered.

"How many times have you been up?"

"The last time makes four." She replied wearily.

He frowned, "Is that normal?" he asked.

"Um hmm," she answered, "Doc says it's perfectly normal for the last stage."

"The last stage?" he asked.

"Yeah, the last stage of pregnancy."

His mind began counting all of Kitty's close calls and near disasters when it came to stages. He could only hope this last stage would be a smooth and uneventful ride.