Disclaimer: I don't own Gunsmoke.
Note: I always hated that the writers of Gunsmoke never gave Festus a love interest after April ran away or was kicked off the show. This is my remedy to that situation. This is part one of about 8 or 9. I'm done with up to part five or so and I'll post them here fairly regularly.
. . .
"You're in a heap of trouble, Festus," Doc Adams smiled over his beer. "A whole heap of trouble."
Festus paused mid-sip. "What're y' talkin' about, Doc? I ain't done nothin'!"
"I'm talking about Glenn's mother, the widow Jones, being out for your blood over what happened with her boy. She came into town earlier, fit to be tied, lookin' for you."
His eyes widened as he gulped the rest of his beer. "Well why didn't y' tell me before, you ole scutter! I've gotta get out," he whirled around and cannoned into a young woman. "Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, I was just leavin'," he righted her.
"Not at all, Mr. Haggen."
He took off his hat. "I'm sorry, ma'am, do I know you?"
Doc cleared his throat and stood. "Festus, this is Mrs. Jones."
Festus paled. "H-Howdy, Mrs. Jones."
"Mr. Haggen, I'd like to have a word with you," she straightened her already immaculate skirt. "We can either speak here or outside."
"I'd pr'fer outside, if'n you don't mind, ma'am."
"Very well," she turned on her heel and exited the Long Branch.
Festus gave Doc an agonized look.
Doc raised his hands. "Don't look at me you got yourself into it, you can get yourself out!"
He dragged his feet on the way to the door, trying to find the right sort of words to say to Mrs. Jones. He didn't find any. Mrs. Jones was sitting on the bench just outside the door. She stood at his approach.
"Before y' say anythin', I'd like t' get my side of the story in."
"Fair enough," she reseated herself. "Go on."
He sat on the extreme edge of the bench. "First off, your boy is a fine young'n. He's smart 'n he hunts like a wolf 'n fishes like a cat. But somehow, on the night you're thinkin' of, he got it all the wrong way round! He asked me if'n he could watch t' office for me n' I only said yes because I knew that it would be a safe place for him while he was in town. I didn't mean for him to stay the whole night through! But it was his sense a' duty t' me 'n the marshal that kept him there—"
Mrs. Jones held up her hand. "Mr. Haggen, I know all of this. Glenn told me as much himself after he came home. I don't hold you responsible—for that. But taking my boy out of school without my permission and taking him fishing," she shook her head. "If you ever do that again I'll be forced to press charges. Deputy Marshal or not," she stood. "Good evening, Mr. Haggen."
Festus was left, sitting on the edge of the bench, staring at her receding form.
Inside, Doc and Miss Kitty exchanged looks from their vantage point.
"Poor Festus," Kitty shook her head. "Do you see the look on his face?"
"Yes," Doc chuckled. "He's in love!"
The next morning, Festus paced the length of the marshal's office. Four paces up, four paces back. He stared at the floor the whole time, not saying a word. Matt watched from behind his desk. Four paces up, four paces back.
"Festus?"
"Mmm?"
"What're you thinking about? It must be something important if you're wearing a trail into my floorboards."
Festus halted abruptly and sagged into the nearest chair. "Golly Bill, Mathew, I've been a' studyin' all morning on how to make it up to that there Jones woman and I just can't figure it out!"
"Well, have you had any ideas at all?"
"I thought on givin' her a nice big bunch of wild flowers, but I don't reckon that she'd be the type a' women to take kindly to flowers from a fella like me."
"It's not the kind of thing to get as an apology. Have you tried telling her that you're sorry?"
Festus frowned at Matt. "Could it be that easy?"
"It could."
"I don't know, Matthew, she's a woman…"
"What difference does that make?"
"Sometimes women are unreasonable," he grumbled.
"Festus," Matt paced over to the table and sat next to him. "I met Mrs. Jones when she first came into town. She's got a level head and, if you put it the right way, she'll listen to what you have to say. Just apologize, it'll work."
He shook his head. "I reckon so."
. . .
Mrs. Julia Jones folded the bread dough with almost clockwork precision. The simple, repetitive action soothed her nerves. Last night's encounter with the local she thought on what to call Festus. Saddle tramp? Deputy Marshal? Drunk? Julia shook her head. It didn't matter. Whatever he was, he'd crossed definite boundaries. Imagine taking someone else's child out of school for impromptu fishing trips. It would have been unheard of in Boston. She paused her kneading. There were many things in Kansas that were unheard of in Boston.
A loud knocking interrupted her thoughts. She looked around for a few moments, dazed by the suddenness of the noise. A second knock jarred her into realization. Someone was at the door. Julia tapped her foot impatiently. She wasn't expecting anyone that afternoon and she was loath to interrupt her baking to open the door. The person knocked a third time and years of etiquette lessons bade her answer the door.
"Ah, Mr. Haggen."
He stood on the porch, hat in hand. "Howdy, Mrs. Jones, I just come over to make my peace with you 'n apologize for doin' wrong by you. Is there anything I can do to make it up t' y'?"
"What makes you think you can make it up to me? What if I'm irreparably angry with you?" Julia crossed her arms, trying to communicate what her words were obviously failing to.
His eyebrows drew together. "Well… I'm not rightly sure what 'irreparably' means. But I am to try and make y' see how sorry I am."
She looked around the yard. "My barn needs painting," she settled. "You'll find both paint and whitewash inside."
He slapped his hat back on his head. "When can I start?"
"Right away. And make sure you do a good job."