A Rose in December
Author's note: This story has no direct connection to any of the episodes in the series. It's rather personal and was written for cathartic reasons; handle with care.
All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.
"A Rose, a cross, a flickering light
A brave face, cold and white
A voice, hushed by Heaven's right
All too soon.
"Fool am I to grant this life meaning
To dream dreams not worth dreaming
While angels of death are silently scheming.
Let me lay my hand upon your breast
And whisper sins un-confessed.
I beg God in my loneliness
Tell me why
Why one so young and tender
Crushed like a rose in December
Lost forever and ever...
"I will be there
When your heart calls on me
Down from a star
On a wind from the highest heaven
I will fly.
Now don't you cry."
-- "Una Rosa a Dicembre" (English translation) by Gino Vanelli
Chapter 1
Everyone thought of him as a social city dweller, but once in a while Chester just had to be alone. The press of humanity infesting Dodge City overwhelmed him. He felt consumed by the urge to be anywhere but where he was. It surged through him until he felt constantly restless, always moving or fidgeting. He had to be out on the prairie, headed away from any trace of civilization. He took little: a bed roll, some trail rations, and one of the rifles for hunting.
Out in the open, with Dodge disappearing behind him, Chester lifted the hat from his head with a wild whoop and kicked the bald faced chestnut gelding into a fast trot. A grin of pure delight on his face, he rode low against the horse's neck reveling in the air of their passage swirling around him. Eventually the horse slowed of its own accord and Chester's wandering became more purposeful. He turned the horse north and west, up the Arkansas toward Cimarron, in search of pheasant or quail. He followed an old game trail which took him away from the stage road and up into the gently rolling hills surrounding it.
Dusk found him making camp in a grove of cottonwoods besides a small spring. Chester had had good luck that day and he had a brace of quail tied to either side of the saddle horn. The birds were dressed but needed to age a day or so; he'd snared a rabbit for his dinner. Coaxing the coals back into a cheery blaze and sipping the last of his coffee, he took note of the weather and determined he ought to head back to Dodge tomorrow. The sharp, bitter wind from the west carried a hint of moisture. The landscape had lost its last vestige of color, turning brown and brittle -- winter colors. It might even snow before he got back if the storm forced its way over the Rockies. Chester nestled more deeply into his bedroll and fell asleep.
By morning the storm had made its way over the mountains. A sparkling blanket of ice crystals covered everything and snow had begun to fall. Chester yawned and stretched before getting stiffly to his feet and shaking the snow and ice out of his blankets. With an eye toward the darkening sky, he decided against making a fire and packed his gear back on the chestnut. Scrabbling into the saddle, he pulled the brim of his hat low down on his head, buttoned his jacket and headed back toward Dodge.
The full force of the storm hit just as Chester made the stage road leading into Dodge. If his horse hadn't stumbled in one of the ruts, he might never have noticed it: a splash of color, out of place in the newly fallen snow, off to the side of the road. Curiosity and concern compelled him to check it out. He took the rifle from its boot, got down from the saddle and, after tethering the horse, approached for a closer look.
It was blood -- not a lot, but enough and where no blood should be. It looked as though something had landed in the snow there and then tried to run or crawl away. He looked for horse or wagon tracks and found them, nearly obliterated by the storm, heading back in the direction of Pueblo. A few feet beyond the blood spoor and drag marks, Chester found a single small print made by a bare foot.
He spent two more hours following the trail. It meandered aimlessly through the brush, heedless of obstacles, sometimes disappearing only to re-emerge as though whoever it was had crawled for a while or had lost their sense of direction. Chester despaired of ever finding whoever had left the tracks and was about to turn back when a patch of copper, bright against the bare branches and dead leaves, caught his attention. Using the muzzle of the rifle to part the branches, Chester bent low and peered into the leaf lined hollow.
A woman!
It was her hair, a rich shade of red, which Chester had seen. She lay sprawled on the ground like a broken little bird. Her dress -- what was left of it -- had once been of fine material but had been skillfully patched as it wore out. It could never be repaired now, however; someone had viciously flayed it from her body and left behind bloody welts. What remained hung in tatters and she had neither coat nor shoes. "Well, forevermore," Chester exclaimed, setting aside the rifle and crouching over her. "How did you get out here, all by your lonesome? Miss, can you hear me?" Tentatively he touched her shoulder.
A pair of terrified green eyes regarded him. She flinched and tried to slither away but had no strength to move further. Licking dry lips blue with cold, she croaked, "Please…don't hurt me any more."
"I ain't gonna hurt ya none." He added in a soft, coaxing tone, "I'd like ta help ya if I kin. You can't stay here, in this storm."
The girl searched Chester's face for the truth behind his words. The soft brown eyes reflected compassion and concern; his mouth turned twisted in a grimace of empathy. Finding nothing threatening there, she held out a trembling hand and grasped his with a desperation that nearly melted Chester's heart. "Are…are you a good man?"
"Well, I like to think I am," Chester answered slowly. That seemed to satisfy her. Embarrassed, he ventured, "I …I got a horse tied yonder. Let's get ya back to Dodge so Doc Adams kin have a look."
With gentle hands, mindful of any injuries she might have, Chester scooped her up into his arms. "I swan," he muttered, "I've carried flour sacks that weighed more." She shivered violently against him; the torn dress offered little protection against the elements. Chester considered for a moment what he could use to warm her. The blanket from his bedroll was damp and probably wouldn't help much, even if he hadn't left the horse two hours down the trail. Without a second thought, he stripped off his coat and wrapped it around her.
Trudging back through the deepening snow took longer than it had to follow the girl's tracks and stole away his strength. Chester's thin, wiry body had never been meant for such exertion. By the time he reached his tethered gelding, Chester was exhausted and near collapse himself. Getting both of them into the saddle posed some difficulty but Chester managed. Settling her in front of him and cradling the girl in his arms, he urged the horse forward. "My name's Chester Goode," he offered, not knowing if she could hear him.
"Sadie," she whispered with a sound like a sob. "I used to be called Sadie before…." Her breath coming in ragged gasps, she wilted against Chester and closed her eyes.
His heart hurting for the things that had been done to her, Chester wrapped his arms more securely around her. "Don't you fear," he whispered into the auburn tresses, "I ain't gonna let anyone hurt you any more and anyone who tries," Chester said savagely, "will have to answer to me."
He kicked the bald faced gelding into a ground eating gallop.
"Listen to that wind," Doc commented as he sipped his whiskey. He and Kitty were sitting beside the wood stove in the Long Branch. "It's gonna be a bad storm."
"Hmm," said Kitty, looking up from her solitaire game, "the first one of the season usually is." She frowned, contemplating the order of the cards. "Shouldn't Chester have been back by now?"
Doc pulled out his pocket watch, took a quick gander and snapped it closed. He swiped thoughtfully at his mustache and then raised a bushy eyebrow. "By golly, you're right. He did mention gettin' back before dinner today. I reckon it'll be dark before too long."
"You don't think he's out there in that, do you?" Kitty asked. "Maybe I ought to go talk to Matt…."
"Knowing Chester, he's probably holed up somewhere on one of the homesteads, cozy as you please and eatin' 'em out of house and home!"
"I don't know, Doc. Chester usually comes back when he says he will..." Kitty cocked her head to one side, listening. "I hear a horse, coming in fast, and someone's yelling."
Doc snatched his coat from the back of the chair and crammed his crumpled black hat down over the iron grey curls. "Sounds like something's wrong. I'm gonna run up to my office and get my bag. You find out what's happening and get Matt if he's not already there."
Without bothering to put on her cloak, Kitty ran through the batwing doors and out onto Front Street. A crowd had already gathered but she pushed her way through until she could see what was causing the commotion. She couldn't help gasping. Chester, coatless, sat shivering on his horse with a thin slip of a girl in his arms. The front of his shirt was saturated with blood. "Matt?" Kitty asked, coming up beside him.
"I don't know what happened," he responded tersely. "Let's get him down off that horse and out of the cold first before we start asking questions." Turning to the assembled crowd, Matt raised his voice and said, "Break it up, folks. Go on home. You'll know more when we do. Doc's coming, Chester. Where are you hit?"
Through chattering teeth, Chester replied, "The blood…it's not mine, it's hers." For the first time, Matt noticed the limp bundle Chester held in his arms. "Found her out yonder on the prairie. Sh-she's in perty bad shape. Doc'd best hurry."
"Right here, Chester," said Doc reassuringly as he came up behind them. "Matt, help me get them both up to my office."
"I'll take her," added Matt. Reluctantly Chester handed her down into Matt's waiting arms. The marshal's large hands were almost tender as he took the unconscious girl from his assistant. Her pale face and frail condition caused a flow of dark emotion to play across his face. She was a very young woman, barely more than a girl, but with her face so badly bruised Matt couldn't better estimate her age. A raw slow anger began to build within him when he saw the bloodied rags and realized that her only decent covering was Chester's coat. Matt quickly schooled his face back into its impartial lawman's mask. "Can you make it okay?" he asked his friend.
"I'll do," Chester replied gamely even as he reeled from the saddle, staggering against his horse and nearly falling.
Kitty wrapped a supporting arm around his waist. "Come on, Chester," she said, "let's get you up to Doc's where it's warm."
Up in the surgery, Doc took one look at Chester and barked at him, "Get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death! Kitty, there's a towel on the wall rack. When he's dried off, wrap him in one of those quilts and sit him down in front of the stove."
"All right, Doc." Kitty tried to get Chester to do as directed, but he kept staring at the door with a worried look on his face. "Matt said he'd bring her up directly," she reassured him. "You can look after her when you've gotten out of those clothes and warmed up a bit."
"I'm a right mess, aren't I, Miss Kitty?" Chester muttered sheepishly.
"No more than usual!" she responded, smiling warmly at him to take the sting from her words as she tossed him a towel and primly turned her back.
The door blew open, admitting a swirl of snowflakes on the chilly air, and the marshal strode into the room. "She's losing a lot of blood, Doc," he said without pretense. The front of his coat, like Chester's shirt, was sodden.
Now that he was certain Kitty had Chester well in hand, Doc Adams turned his attention to his second patient. "Just set 'er down easy on the table, Matt," he instructed as he gathered his instruments. He soaked several cotton pads in a basin of diluted rubbing alcohol and began gently wiping at the abrasions. "I'll have to clean some of this up before I can see how badly she's been hurt."
Matt, his expression anxious, watched as Doc worked. What he saw made him feel a vague queasiness and the marshal was no stranger to all kinds of terrible wounds. He pointed to the open, bleeding weals lacing the girl's back. "Doc, those look like…."
Doc's mustache twitched. His eyes held indignation and anger. "Those marks were put there by a bull whip, Matt." He kept his hands steady as be began the task of sewing the welts closed with small, neat stitches but his voice shook. "Anyone who would do that to a child ought to be drawn and quartered with salt rubbed in what's left afterward!"
The marshal winced at Doc's vehemence but privately agreed with the assessment. "That won't be necessary, Doc. If I can find the one responsible, I'll bring 'em in and we'll let the courts take care of it." He let his voice harden, emphasizing those last words.
"We'll let you handle it," Doc responded as he continued his examination. He frowned as he ran his hands along her arms, legs, and ribs. "Either she's the clumsiest girl in Kansas or someone has really been working her over for some time. I can feel multiple old breaks, none of them properly tended. That'll pain her some in this cold weather. I don't know that she'll ever walk on those legs properly again. The long bone is broken, snapped clean in half, but the injury had to have happened a few days ago. Give me a hand here, Matt. I need to re-set the bone but it's going to take some effort."
They had just begun the grueling work of putting traction on the bone so that Doc could put it back into place when the girl regained consciousness with a sobbing groan. Her eyes went wide in fear when she saw the marshal and she shrank away from him. "No need to be afraid, miss," Matt tried to assure her. "I'm just helping Doc here. You're safe now."
"No," she responded in a low whisper of disbelief. "No, I don't believe you. You'll hurt me. Chester!" she shrieked. "Chester, help me!"
Chester stood on shaky legs and wobbled over to the exam table. One hand clutching the quilt around him, he used his other hand to stroke the girl's hair back from her forehead. "Right here," he said. "Don't you fret, they won't hurt you none. They're my friends."
She turned her head aside, buried it in Chester's thigh, and sobbed piteously, "Please, Chester, don't let him near me. You promised!"
"Mr. Dillon," Chester said, his voice uncharacteristically stern and protective, "I think maybe you'd best go. You're upsetting her."
Matt, hurt and confused, looked at Doc for affirmation. "She does seem to be afraid of you," Doc conceded. "It might be better if you weren't here. Kitty can help me set that bone. The girl won't be in any condition to answer questions until morning anyhow."
"I'll be in my office." Matt strode out the door, the muscles of his shoulders tense with suppressed emotion.
"Matt." Kitty stopped him on the landing and placed a hand on his arm. Just having her touch him made Matt feel less like a monster. "Matt, it isn't personal. Whatever happened to that poor thing was awful bad. She isn't thinking clearly now. Give her time to mend and get used to you. She'll come around."
"Uhn-huhn." His hand tightened into a fist. A furtive glance around showed him they would not be observed and he risked a quick kiss on Kitty's cheek. "Come by later, Kitty, and we'll go to supper."
She smiled at him. "All right, Matt. Be careful."
He tipped his hat to her and flashed a lopsided grin. "I generally am."