Eighteen Years
(A Missing Moment for "Kitty's Love Affair")
"I guess what I'm asking is for you to tell me to say no to Will Stambridge."
"Kitty, you know how I feel, but that's a decision you're going to have to make yourself."
"I know, Matt. I know."
Unshed tears of anger and hurt were stinging her eyes as she stepped out into the dark night, pulling the door closed behind her. It was the response she had known he would give; she had expected no other. But that didn't ease the ache in her heart, and his words continued to echo in time with her footsteps as she hurried down the boardwalk toward the saloon at the end of the block—toward the place that had been her home for eighteen years.
You know how I feel…decision…have to make yourself…know how I feel…decision…make yourself…feel…decision…yourself….feel…decision…yourself…
She paused in front of the batwing doors, but feeling too out of sorts to make small talk with the few remaining stragglers in the saloon, she rounded the corner and turned toward the long flight of stairs that led to the back door to her rooms. No, damn it, I don't know how you feel! She kicked the newel post at the foot of the steps, swore again, and climbed wearily to the top. Instead of going immediately inside, she sat down on the landing, hoping the evening breeze would cool both her hot face and her even hotter temper.
Listening to the soft sounds of the night, watching the stars sparkling in the dark sky, smelling the fragrant aroma of hay and wildflowers wafting in from the prairie, her thoughts turned to memories of other nights when she and Matt had shared a secluded rendezvous on this very spot. She closed her eyes, feeling his long arms wrap around her once again as she sat between his muscular thighs, her back braced against his massive chest. She could feel his warm lips brush the back of her neck, his breath stirring the russet tendrils, and, as surely as if he were on the balcony with her, she felt long, calloused fingers skimming over her breasts, massaging the tender flesh beneath her robe. Sweet, sweet memories. Oh, Matt. Why can't you commit? She bowed her head and squeezed out a few bitter tears.
When she again raised her head, she noticed that a light had come on in the upstairs room across the alley. Doc's office. The thought of the kindly old man who had been her friend and confidant for the better part of eighteen years raised her spirits. Late as it was, she needed his wisdom tonight. She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes, descended the stairs, crossed the alley and climbed the rickety old steps that ran along the side of the general store. Her quiet knock was answered with a gravelly, "Come in," and she slipped through the door asking hesitantly, "Is it too late for a chat?"
The old physician marked the page in the medical book he was reading, closed it, unhooked his spectacles from around his ears, folded them into their case and turned to her. "I was kind of expecting you. If not tonight, soon. Sit down." He nodded toward the chair next to the desk.
She sat, and without waiting for him to say anything more, blurted, "I swear, Doc, that man is the most exasperating person I've ever met in my life!"
The old man reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of Old Prairie and two glasses before remarking blandly, "Who?"
"Don't you get foxy with me, Doc. Not tonight. I'm in no mood for playing games."
"I'm sorry, Kitty." He filled the glasses with whiskey and handed one to her. "So…what has that overgrown civil servant done this time?"
Kitty downed half of the bitter liquid in one gulp, then set the glass down on the edge of the desk. "Same thing he always does. Nothing!"
She watched the doctor's eyebrows shoot upward, took another sip of her drink and continued. "I just came from the jail, Doc. I…I asked him to tell me to say no to Will. And…and he…" Her voice trailed into silence.
"Go on. He what?"
"He told me it has to be my decision."
Doc's hand swiped at his mustache, giving him a moment to think before speaking. "Well, he's right, you know. It does have to be your decision. You know Matt would never tell you what to do."
"Oh, I know that, but…but…he never says anything. It just seems as if he…as if he doesn't care about…about me…about us." Her voice trembled over the last words.
"Now wait a minute, Kitty. Matt might not say much, especially when it comes to his feelings, but he cares. Believe me, he cares."
"How can you be so sure of that when…when I'm not?" She swallowed the last of her drink.
The old man chuckled. "Kitty, I'd have to be blind, deaf and totally stupid not to know how that man feels about you—how he's felt for a very long time. I'm not so old that I've forgotten how a man looks—and acts—when he's in love with a woman."
Kitty lifted her head. "You think he really does love me? That I'm not just a…a convenience…for him?"
"Kitty Russell, are you going to sit there and tell me you don't know how Matt feels about you? He loves you more than anything on this earth. Now, I'm not sure he'll ever tell you that, and I shouldn't be telling you, either, but…well, you're upset and confused right now, honey, and you need to see things the way they really are before…well…before…" Doc tilted the whiskey bottle and re-filled their glasses. "I'm talking too much."
"Before I say yes to Will?" Her voice dropped to a whisper as she finished his sentence.
"Something like that. Let me ask you this: Are you in love with this Stambridge fella?"
"I…no, of course not. We've just met. Love takes time to…well, to grow."
She would have sworn that this time Doc's swipe at his mustache was designed to hide a grin that was twitching his lips, but all he said was, "Speaking of time, it's been what, about eighteen years since you came to Dodge?"
She nodded.
"That's a long time, and you may have forgotten a few things over the years, Kitty, so let me refresh your memory. I've watched you and Matt from the beginning—watched you kids grow up, so to speak. Oh, you were something, you two—skittish as colts in a new pasture. But you couldn't deny the pull of your feelings for each other. And I encouraged you—both of you. Maybe I was wrong," he lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his, "but you were so good with each other—and for each other. Matt needed you to soften those hard edges, to give him respite from the ugly world he lived in—still lives in. And you needed him, too. You needed a man secure enough in his own manhood to respect you and treat you as both a lady and an equal, someone who would admire your mind as well as your body." He smiled into her strained face. "And, I hoped…well, I always hoped that one day you and he…"
Tears began to well in Kitty's blue eyes yet again as Doc's words trailed off, recalling vivid images of those first years with Matt—the raw newness, the tentative dance of their burgeoning relationship, the exhilaration, the anticipation—each of them aching with longing deeper than anything they had ever known, wanting desperately to be together, but afraid it would mean even more of the pain and loss and heartache they had already experienced so much in their young lives. "That was a long time ago, Doc. I was so young. And so in love. I…oh, Doc, what have I done?"
"Nothing that can't be undone—if that's what you want. But first, I want you to listen to me. And listen carefully. You love Matt, right?"
"More than anything in this world. He is my world, Doc. You know that."
"And I happen to know that you're his world, too. He might have trouble expressing his feelings sometimes, but Matt Dillon loves you so much and so deep, you'll never be able to tap the depths of that love."
"Then why can't he say it? What's wrong with him?" She dropped her head and looked into her glass. "Or with me?"
"Oh, he's said it all right. Lots of times."
Her sapphire eyes widened as they searched the doctor's faded ones. "He has?"
"Maybe you haven't heard him, Kitty, but I have. And you've heard him, too. I know you have. He's saying 'I love you' every time he stands behind those batwing doors and searches the crowd, looking for you, making sure you're all right. He says 'I love you' every time he tips his hat to you or pulls out a chair for you. He says 'I love you' every time he oh-so-discreetly presses his arm against yours, or touches your shoulder, or lays one of those huge hands on the small of your back. And—this one's my personal favorite—he says, 'I love you' every time he smiles at you. It does this old heart good to see that big galoot's eyes go all soft and gooey when he looks at you." Doc smiled. "Now don't you dare go telling him I said that, young lady."
She started to speak, but the physician continued. "And let me tell you how else he says, 'I love you.' I've been listening to Matt's fevered and laudanum-induced ramblings for a lot of years now. Even in delirium, his every thought is of you. Yours is the first name he calls soon as he can muster the strength to push out more than a groan. And it's the only name he calls. You're the only person he wants, honey, the only person he needs."
"Oh, sure, when he's out of his head," she pouted.
Doc's eyes twinkled. "One of these days, I'll make a joke about that, but not right now. Kitty, I'm going to tell you a couple things I have no right to tell you, but I'm going to say them anyway because…well…because you're not thinking straight right now, and I think you need to hear them. And when I'm finished, maybe you…well, maybe you'll manage to forget we had this conversation. Understand?"
She nodded her head and followed him with her eyes as he rose from his chair and began moving about the room, edging a brown medicine bottle a fraction of an inch to the right, re-folding the sheet on the examining table, aligning medical books on the top shelf. "Those times over the years when you've been sick or hurt, he's been downright crazy with worry about you—doesn't sleep, doesn't eat—just haunts that room," he ticked his head in the direction of the back bedroom, "like a man possessed. And the times you've gone on a shopping spree to St. Louis or Kansas City—oh, my, I don't even want to be reminded of those times! The man walks around town grumpy as a kangaroo with a porcupine in its pouch, stalking the depot waiting for the train or stage to come in, watching the clock. If it's more than five minutes overdue, he has Moss saddling Buck."
He paused in front of the desk, poured another shot of whiskey, and continued. "And, honey, those times when you were…uh, missing…he's gone just about crazy. Both Chester and Festus—Newly, too, come to think of it—have told me when they're out on the trail with him, he doesn't stop to eat or sleep, just keeps pushing on—searching, looking for you, regardless of the dark or the weather or the hardships or danger to himself or to them. Only time he stops is when the horses are ready to drop in their tracks." He sat back down and reached for her hand. "Does that sound like a man who thinks of you as nothing more than a 'convenience'?"
At last, bitter tears of frustration and doubt rolled down her pale cheeks as she choked out, "Oh, Doc…what…do you think…am I making a mistake?"
She listened to him push out a tired sigh, watched him shake his head. "What I think isn't important. I'm not taking sides. I just wanted to make sure you have all the facts. But you need to know your own mind, Kitty. I can't—I won't—tell you what I think you should do."
"Men!" she groused, but managed to give him a shaky smile as she rose from the chair and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Thanks, Doc. For everything. I know what I need to do. Fact is, I think I've known all along." She kissed his cheek. "I'm going to let you get some sleep now, and I'm going to try to figure out a way to explain things to Matt. I'm not sure I can even make him understand, much less make things right again, but…."
She felt a tremor in the arms that tightened around her. "When the time comes, you'll know what to say, honey. And he'll help you. You know that."
She walked down the stairs and crossed the alley, feeling calmer of mind than she had felt in days. Her wise old friend had helped her tormented heart to know the truth—that what she had with Matt and what they felt for each other was deep and wonderful and real. Certain she was being watched from behind the lace curtain in Doc's office, she straightened her spine and walked up the steps to her rooms. Had she turned around, she would have seen the old physician standing at his window, smiling into the night, secure in the knowledge that, once again, his children were going to be all right.
The End