author's note - this short story is a prequel to 'the Ring'. Please note the year has been changed to 1888, which should hold true for both stories.
Time to Go
Gunsmoke fanfiction -not for profit and with no intent of infringement of copyright
Without beginning - Without end
Until it's Time For You to Go
Buffy Sainte-Marie
You're not a dream, you're not an angel You're a man
I'm not a queen, I'm a woman Take my hand
We'll make a space in the lives That we'd planned
And here we'll stay Until it's time for me to go
Yes we're different worlds apart We're not the same
We laughed and played At the start like in a game
You could've stayed outside my heart But in you came
And here you'll stay Until it's time for me to go
Don't ask why Don't ask how Don't ask forever
Love me now
This love of mine had no beginning It has no end
I was an oak, now I'm a willow Now I can bend
And though I'll never
In my life see you again
Still I'll stay
Until it's time for me to go
1
Kitty Russell hated the cold. It seemed the older she got the more she disliked the endless months of wind, snow and ice. It cut into her profit margin too, for an ice cold beer did not sound nearly as appealing in January as it did in July. There were no Texas herds fattening up for market either, thus, thirsty cowpokes were harder to come by. That is not to say there weren't benefits to the winter months that made it almost worth the sacrifice. The snow brought peace to the cowtown and that meant the Marshal had more time to spend with his friends. Seeing him on a day to day basis and spending many a night with him as well gave her a glowing sense of contentment. It showed in her demeanor and in her countenance. The lines of worry eased and a smile was more often the look with which her face graced the world.
XOXO
To celebrate New Year's Day — 1888, Kitty Russell threw a party at the Long Branch. She enlisted several of her regular customers, including Festus Hagen, Mr. Halligan and even Mr. Bodkin to fashion colorful paper chains. She hung the decorations in loops and swags from the balcony, across the front of the bar and up the bannister rails. Nathan Burke painted a large banner made from used canvas wagon covers that proclaimed, HAPPY NEW YEAR'S 1888. This, he nailed to the upper railing of the balcony.
The saloon was as festive a place as Dodge City could offer, on the day of the celebration. At one end of the bar sat her crystal punch bowl filled to the brim with a tangy spiked orange and cloves punch. Next to the punch bowl came a spread of ham and rolls, pickles, herring, hard boiled eggs, cheese and soda crackers, cakes and cookies. There was enough food to feed her regular clientele along with any drifters who happened by.
A group of musicians, including fiddle, banjo and guitar players occupied an area near the rear of the saloon next to the player piano.
The party was already in full swing, with Kitty yet to make her appearance. Her long time friend and consort, Marshal Matt Dillon knew his role in her Grand Entrance and he waited at the bottom of the stairs where, when once she appeared he would ascend to escort her down to the main floor. He had taken part in this performance several times in the past with tongue in cheek, however, he did so obligingly because it pleased her.
The band, on a preplanned cue, struck up a rather upbeat version of, "I'll take you home again Kathleen." Her bedroom door opened and she appeared, and frankly, took Dillon's breath away. She was dressed in a new lace embellished gown in a particularly rich shade of lapis blue. Her hair was craftily arranged in a soft do, that made her look younger than her 38 years. The lawman eagerly climbed the steps and was halfway up them when he saw her eyes widen with alarm and at the same time she cried out, "Matt, behind you — the door."
His hand was to holster before he even made the turn, in a split second he registered the man with a pistol pointed at him. There was a rapid exchange of gunfire. The stranger's shot not nearly as sure as Dillon's. Nevertheless, the lawman was hit, suffering a deep graze across his left temple that knocked him off his feet and sent him tumbling down the stairs, to land in a heap at the bottom. Blood poured forth from the head wound, spilling to the saloon floor. Kitty flew down the stairs and fell to his side, there, cradling his head against bosom and lap. He tried to push away; hated the fact she was seeing him shot again, hated the fact his bloody head was ruining the pretty new dress she'd gussied herself up in, hated the fact he was growing light-headed and ready to pass out.
He woke up at Doc's. His head had been bandaged and he'd been put to bed. Kitty was sitting in a stiff backed chair off to the side. His blurry eyes noted she was still in her new dress and the blood stains had already changed from red to brown. Her shoulders were slumped, her head was down and he saw she was studying the pattern his blood had made on the bodice and skirt of her gown.
He licked his dry lips and found his voice, although it came out weak and hollow to his ear. "Guess I ruined your dress."
She looked up, stood and swiveled in one motion, to sit on the bed beside him, leaning down so she could be closer to him. "I guess you did. That's okay. I can always get a new dress. Cowboys, are harder to come by."
"Not in this town …"
"I'm particular." She replied. She placed gentle fingers to the side of his face. Her smooth cool hands were comforting, though he'd never admit it out loud. "How do you feel?" She asked.
He blinked hard. His head was pounding, but he managed a smile. "… like it must have been a helluva party."
"I told you it was gonna be." There was a teasing glimmer on her face, but her blue eyes were pooling fast.
Before Dillon could respond Doc Adams was at the door. "'bout time you woke up." He grumbled. He gave a nudge to Kitty's shoulder. "Let me get a closer look at my patient."
They exchanged places, the old man sitting in the spot Kitty had vacated, she standing by the door with a worried look wrinkling her pretty features. The physician began a practiced exam, looking in eyes and ears, manipulating neck, checking reflexes and taking pulse, all the while asking inane questions, like, "What's your name? Where do you live? Do you know what day it is? Who is the President of the United States", and finally, "do you know who it was that shot you?"
"Man by the name of Clay Stewart. He and his brother robbed a stage near Fall Creek ... five maybe six years ago. I brought 'em in. His brother was hanged for shooting the driver. Clay was sent to prison."
The doctor straightened his spine, swiped his mustache and scratched his ear. "Nothing wrong with your memory. I want to keep you overnight though, just to be on the safe side."
"Doc!" Matt began a protest and started to sit up. The room took to spinning and he lay back down.
Kitty stayed by his side throughout the night. When he became sick to his stomach, it was she who held the basin, who wiped his face and placed a clean damp cloth on his forehead.
XOXO
It wasn't until the next day, that she returned to her room at the Long Branch, there to peel away the gown that by now was ruined beyond repair. She changed to more practical apparel, combed out her hair and washed her face. Without studying it any further she picked up the blood covered lapis gown and shoved it in the trash.
She was dead tired and decided an hour-or-so nap before heading down to the saloon floor could be forgiven. Her sleep was not peaceful or restful, instead it was an old nightmare that came up to haunt her. There was always some variance in the scenario and the cast of characters, but the ending, horrific and the same, Matt Dillon, shot and bleeding — his face ashen and slack, she'd seen it in real life too often not to have it replay accurately in her dreams. She awoke in a cold sweat and screaming.
One of her girls, Lulu, heard the cry and ran to her employer's door. "Miss Kitty, you alright?" She bravely tested the knob and finding it unlocked entered the suite, there she saw Kitty in that grand brass bed of hers, in some state of confusion. Lulu hurried to her bedside. "Oh my!" She exclaimed, "It's that dream again ain't it?"
Kitty nodded. There were beads of sweat bubbling on her forehead and an unhealthy pallor to her face, "I'm alright Lulu." She lied. "I guess a few bad dreams are to be expected now and then. I could sure use a drink. Would you mind? Bottle's on the side table."
Lulu poured the drink and handed it to Kitty who took it with a shaky hand. "I should be used this, after all of these years."
"Reckon, you ain't never gonna get used to something like that, Ma'am."
Kitty heaved a shaky breath, "If I'm going to stay in Dodge City, I reckon I'm going to have to."