In
Pace Requiescat
A
Gunsmoke
Story
Chapter
One: Luckily Met
It
had been a long day. In fact, it had been a long week. The drovers
had hit Dodge with their usual rambunctious, tear-em-up, shoot-em-up
enthusiasm, then left with their guts full and their pockets empty,
much to the delight of one particular redhead. Kitty Russell enjoyed
the profits made during these times, but sometimes she wondered if it
was really worth it. When the dust settled, she counted seventeen
bullets holes in the ceiling and twelve in the floor that would have
to be fixed before it rained, which according to Sam would be soon.
She also took note of three tables and seven chairs that were now in
desperate need of repair.
Feet aching and head swirling, she took a moment to lean back against the bar, her eyes resting on the lone remaining patron, a stranger sitting alone in the corner. She frowned slightly at the unusual sight he made, definitely not a drover. In fact, he didn't look as if he fit in Dodge at all. An hour or so before, she had served him a bottle of wine, amazed that he knew enough to ask for Amontillado and had been rather disappointed when all she could offer him was a simple sherry. The roughnecks of Dodge gave her little reason to keep a large stock of fine wines. Curious, and pleased that he looked and seemed rather civilized compared with the most recent clientele, she walked over to where he was sitting.
"That must be some book," she noted when he didn't look up at her approach.
The man jumped, startled by her appearance, and rose instantly to his feet. "Indeed, it is. Please, won't you sit down?" He gestured toward an empty chair.
"Sure, I could use a minute off my feet." The book in his hand was relatively large, and she could tell by the cover that it wasn't one of those dime novels Chester used to go on about. "So, whatcha reading?"
The man smiled broadly at her interest. "Poe. Have you ever read Poe?"
She shook her head. "No, I can't say that I have. What does he write? It is a him isn't it?"
"Yes, mostly short stories, but he did write some poetry, as well." Eagerly, he asked, "Would you like to hear some?"
"Well," she hedged, not really in the mood for poetry. "I don't really have much time. As you can see from the looks of this place, I've got a lot of cleaning up to do. Maybe later – "
"It can wait five minutes, can't it? That's all I ask." His tender voice, soft and cultured – so contrary to the crass, bellowing tones that had stampeded out of the Long Branch just moments before – wooed her into agreeing.
"Well, I don't suppose five minutes will break me."
"Good!" he declared, looking truly delighted. "Now, what shall I read for the lady of the house? Thumbing quickly through the pages, he stopped about halfway through. "Oh, I've got just the thing. It's called Annabel Lee,' one of his best, I think. I hope you like it."
The stranger's baritone voice echoed gently through the Long Branch.
"It
was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a
maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel
Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to
love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In
this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more
than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged
seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the
reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew
out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her
highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up
in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea."
"That's a bit morbid, don't you think?" Kitty interrupted when he took a long breath.
The man faltered, his eyes suddenly uncertain. "Oh? Well, I don't think so. Would you like to hear something else?"
"I don't think so. I've got a lot of work to finish before I turn in for the night."
"Then let me finish this one. There's not much more."
"Well – "
He took that as acquiescence and continued. Kitty sighed, sitting back to endure the rest, her good nature not allowing her to be flat-out rude.
"The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went
envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In
this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by
night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it
was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than
we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven
above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my
soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the
moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful
Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright
eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide,
I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my
bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the
sounding sea."
He finished with a flourish, his eyes gleaming with pleasure, lips curled in a satisfied smile.
Kitty winced. "Are all of his works that depressing?"
Smile fading, he assured her, "No, not at all. Perhaps I could interest you in something else of his."
"Thank you, anyway," she said quickly, pushing her tired body up from the table. "Maybe some other time."
Placing a hand against her aching back she trudged back to the bar, glad this night was over. The squeak of the batwing doors drew her attention. Matt Dillon had apparently finished his rounds and, as was his custom, made the Long Branch his last official stop.
As usual, his presence sent a thrill through her, and she smiled warmly, unaware of the dark frown that creased the stranger's forehead. "Hello, Matt. Can I get you a beer?"
The big marshal pushed his Stetson back on his head and smiled, leaning against the bar next to her, almost touching her arm, but not quite. "Sounds good."
"Sam," she called, not taking her eyes from his intriguing blue ones, "bring the marshal a beer."
"So, how was your night?" Matt asked, his gaze skimming over the wreckage of the saloon. "It looks like things got a little rough in here after I left a few hours ago."
"Yeah, but nothing Sam and I couldn't handle. You know how they are. They've spent three weeks, or longer, on the trail and just needed a night to blow off some steam. It really wasn't as bad as it looks. We've got a few holes and a couple of pieces of furniture to repair. Which reminds me – Sam, make sure you let Clem know that we've got to fix those holes before it rains again."
"Yes ma'am." Sam set two beers down for them.
Matt took a moderate gulp of the cold liquid and shook his head. "Kitty, if you keep this up you'll be retired before you're forty."
"Yeah, right. And then what would I do?"
"Well, those dime store novels you and Chester used to like sure kept you occupied. You would have all the time in the world to read till your heart's content. Or, you could start writing them yourself."
Laughing, she nodded toward the corner. "All I can write are checks to pay these bills. But, speaking of reading, check out that fellow over there."
Matt turned slightly, his eyes taking in the stranger with quick, professional perusal. "What about him?"
"Doesn't he seem a little – out of place to you?"
"Dodge gets all kinds, Kitty."
"He's obviously not a drover."
"Doesn't appear to be. What does he have to do with reading, though?"
"Oh! Well, he just read a poem to me by some fellow named Poe. It was awful pretty, but kind of creepy, too."
"Poe?"
"You heard of him?" she asked, surprise lacing her voice.
"I think so."
"Come on over and talk to him. See what you think." Kitty asked Sam for another beer and then led Matt over to where the stranger was sitting.
"Thought you might like a cold beer to replace the wine that I'm sure has gotten warm by now." She set the beer on the table in front of the stranger.
Casting a quick, but almost horrified glance at the glass, the man stood and bowed. "Thank you."
"Marshal Dillon, this is – I'm sorry, I don't think you ever told me your name."
"It's Montressor."
"That's very unusual," Kitty noted.
"An old European family name, Madame."
Matt shifted his weight, hooking his thumbs in his gunbelt. "Are you enjoying your time in Dodge, Mister – Montressor?"
"Most certainly, Marshal. It's quite a town. Are all Thursday nights this invigorating?"
"Not all of them," Matt laughed, then added, "fortunately."
"I see. Well, it was a treat to be able to sit back and observe how the human animal behaves in such an atmosphere. Tell me, Marshal, are you a lover of the written word?"
The broad shoulders shrugged. "In my line of work, I mostly read the newspaper, telegrams, and wanted posters."
The stranger shifted slightly. "You've never heard of Poe, then? Edgar Allan Poe?"
"I know a little about him." Matt turned to Kitty. "Do you still need help with that door in your office? I thought I would fix before I turn in tonight."
"Yes, I almost forgot. Excuse us, Mister Montressor."
"Of course," he said, bowing again. "How much do I owe you for the wine and – beer?"
"It's on the house, a fair exchange for the beautiful reading."
"I thank you, Madame, but the charming company was more compensation than I could have ever hoped for."
When the two turned to leave, Kitty tried to ignore the eye roll Matt gave her as they walked toward the office, neither of them hearing the mumble of the stranger. "My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met."
As the door closed behind them, Kitty blew out a heavy breath. "Thanks for the save, Matt. You should have heard what that guy read to me. It was the most morbid, depressing thing. This girl was kidnapped from her lover, locked up in some kind of cave, and died. It was written by that – that Poe fellow. He must have been some kind of weird."
Bending to inspect the lower hinge of the door, Matt answered, "I remember reading something about him. He died before the war, and young, too. A mysterious-type death, as I recall. When I was younger, I read some of his work."
Her brow arched at his surprising acquaintance with Poe. "You did? Well, for a civil servant you sure know a lot about writers. I'll take my dime store romance novels over that kind of depressing reading any day of the week."
He glanced back and chuckled. "Kitty, did anyone ever tell you that you're a hopeless romantic?"
"Only those with whom I am hopelessly romantic." She let her fingers run up the long muscles of his back as he worked on the hinge.
Bowing a bit into her caress, he said, "Is that so? Well, I hope they know what they've gotten themselves into to."
She squeezed as tightly as she could, digging her thumbs and fingers deep into his left shoulder, nodding in satisfaction when he jerked up and rubbed the area.
"Kitty, that hurts."
"Now that you know how a hopeless romantic treats the object of her affection, you might not want to be that object."
He stood and turned to face her, his long, strong arms sliding around her waist and pulling her against him. "Miss Russell," he said, as he lowered his mouth to hers, "from what I've heard, a hopeless romantic can be awfully persuasive."
"She most definitely can be," she agreed, just before they were both deeply persuaded.
TBC