Note: A little over a year ago, I wrote "In Their Eyes," an ATC for the episode "Matt's Love Story." That little tale was followed (most unexpectedly, I might add) by "The Letter." Then once again I succumbed to peer pressure and wrote "Epiphany," the final installment in what has become the MLS Trilogy. Or, maybe not.
Then about two months ago I got to thinking…
The story that follows is the result of those thoughts.
Disclaimer: No ownership; no profit…just love and nostalgia for these wonderful characters.
PROMISES
In the quiet of an early April afternoon, Marshal Matt Dillon left the jailhouse and walked purposefully across the packed dirt street to the Dodge House. His mind was focused on the questions he needed to ask gunslinger Royal Jennings about the shooting behind the Bull's Head the night before, and he paid no heed to either the chill wind blowing in from the open prairie nor to the farm wagon now rounding the corner and proceeding down Front Street.
On the seat of the wagon was a man of indeterminate age, most likely Mexican by the dark tone of his skin, and a small child of perhaps four or five years.
As the wagon made its slow progress down Front Street, the little girl jumped up and down on the floorboard, her high-pitched voice causing those on the boardwalk to turn and stare.
"There he is, Manny! There's my big papa!"
The townspeople looked from the little girl to the big lawman, who was oblivious to the sudden sensation he was creating, and back again.
"Papa, Papa! Wait for us. Manny bringed me to see you!"
By now Matt was aware that he had inadvertently become the center of unwanted attention and turned toward the sound.
Dear God! He recognized not only the occupants of the wagon, but the wagon itself. He had made those new wheels himself not six months earlier when he had been down in the Arizona Territory. The man was Manuel Azevedo, the trusted hand on Mike Yardner's Cactus Creek Ranch. And the child calling so innocently, yet insistently, to her papa—the child was Beth, the stunned lawman's four-year old daughter.
With an acute feeling of foreboding, Matt approached the wagon and shook the ranch man's hand. "Manuel, what's wrong? Why have you and Beth come to Dodge—alone?"
"Señor Marshal, I bring you Little Missy with great sadness. The influenza come to our valley. Many people get sick. Many die. My Marita, she and Señora Mike, they help everyone. Then, they too, get sick. I pray they will get better, but it not happen. The señora, she know she will not get well. She make me promise to take care of Little Missy and bring her to you—here, Dodge City."
Too astounded to speak, Matt simply nodded and walked dazedly to the other side of the wagon where the little girl sat quietly whispering to her rag doll and waiting her turn.
"Hey, Beth." He looked into the sky blue eyes, so like his own. "How are you, honey? You're getting to be such a big girl."
"I'm good, Papa. I'm four now. Are you s'prised to see me, Papa?"
Was it his imagination or was each 'Papa' just a bit louder, a tad shriller than the one before it? And surely all of these people had not been on Front Street when he had left the jail only five minutes earlier.
"Unh, you might say that, Beth. Yes, I'm definitely surprised to see you here in Dodge."
"Catch me, Papa," the little girl shrieked as she propelled herself from the bench seat and into the big man's arms.
He settled her comfortably against his shoulder and turned again to Manuel, who was holding a thick cream colored envelope out to him.
"Señora Mike, she say to give you this. What it say, I do not know, but I do what she tell me, bring Little Missy to you."
Matt touched the man's shoulder. "You did right, Manuel. How long ago did Señora Mike and your Marita die?"
"The señora, she die right after the new year. She ask me to make special torta for Little Missy for los cumpleaños—how you say?—the birthday. Then she die. Marita she die maybe two weeks later. That is why we not come sooner. I can not leave my Marita, sick as she is. Then I have much to take care of, and I need to find someone to watch the ranch, feed the stock while I go. Then the cold and big storm come and we cannot travel. So I take care of Little Missy and bring her to you soon I can."
Again, the big lawman pressed his hand into the smaller man's shoulder. "You did just fine, Manuel. And you've obviously taken excellent care of her."
By now the attention of the townspeople had been drawn to the dark-skinned man on the wagon seat, the tall marshal and the little girl drowsing contentedly on his broad shoulder, one tiny arm as far as it could reach around his neck.
Word of the little group spread up and down the street, with those who been there at the onset whispering to the newcomers that they had heard the child several times refer to their marshal as "Papa."
Inevitably, word worked its way to the Long Branch, where both Kitty and Sam left their posts to investigate.
Kitty was within fifty feet of the wagon when the first shiver of disbelief shot down her spine. As she moved closer, the little girl lifted clear blue eyes over the big lawman's shoulder and stared shyly at the approaching redhead.
With one long index finger, Matt gently lifted the child's chin. "Do you remember Kitty, honey? You were just a little girl of three last year when Papa and Miss Kitty came to visit you and your mama. 'Member?"
The brown curls danced as she nodded. "Papa's Kitty?" she chirped.
Matt raised hesitant eyes to Kitty's and fervently answered his daughter. "I hope so, honey. I certainly hope so."
Kitty's eyes met his squarely and her hand caressed the corded fabric of his sleeve as she lifted Beth into her own arms, saying quietly, "Get the bags, Matt. That wind is too cold to keep this child out here in the street. And we really don't need to be the town's afternoon entertainment. Come with me."
As if in a dream, Matt gathered the two carpetbags and the rag doll from the wagon, spoke a few words to Manuel, pointed him in the direction of the livery stable and followed his daughter and the woman he loved into the Long Branch Saloon.
TBC…