A Dodge City Christmas
Soft, fluffy specks of white fell from the pitch black Kansas sky, coating the Dodge City street and softening the harshness of the dark night. Wind whipped around the corners of the storefronts sending wisps of snow blowing down the street.
Silently, a lone figure emerged from the livery, pausing to pull his thin coat tighter about his bony shoulders. He looked to the sky and smiled as a soft flake caught him on the nose. The first snowfall of the year! It had been a long time in coming, but it had finally arrived. And what a wonderful night for it to happen! Christmas Eve!
The man hunched his shoulders against the wind and heard the sound of cheerful voices carrying on the icy breeze. Familiar voices echoed in the cold, harsh night and he walked hurriedly toward the source of the sounds: Delmonico's Restaurant.
Stopping outside the restaurant, he peered inside, his fists wiping at the fogged window. Cupping his hands around his eyes, he gazed inside at the crowd assembled in the warm, inviting room adorned gaily with ribbons, garlands of greens and a huge Christmas tree.
Townsfolk gathered around a table laden with foods of every imagining: turkey, ham, potatoes, stuffing, vegetables, rolls and more pies than he could count. So much food lay on the table that it had a distinct bow in the middle, and he hoped fervently it didn't give way. Unconsciously, he licked his lips in anticipation and straightened, pausing to brush at his coat and run a hand down his unruly hair. He was sober tonight: stone cold sober and as Louie Pheeters gazed at the folks gathered within, warmth filled him.
Leaning down again, he gazed inside once more to observe the people he had come to admire, and even love, as they talked animatedly amongst themselves.
Doc Adams stood off to the side of the group and listened as Festus Haggen told a story of his family and Christmases past. He watched as the old man's face crinkled in amusement, then turned to a scowl whenever he realized he was being watched. Louie smiled as he remembered all the times the man had tried to get him to stop his drinking, but it had never lasted. And it never would he feared. He was what he was.
Matt Dillon, Marshal of the town, stood with his arms wrapped around Miss Kitty Russell, her beautiful red head resting on his broad chest. Her eyes turned to his and crumpled in delight as she listened to their friend extol the dangers of too much turkey and stuffing, a fact Festus had apparently, and sadly, discovered for himself.
The pair treated him like a human being and not the lush he was; something that couldn't be said for all in the town. Kitty often gave him odd jobs to earn money: money she knew perfectly well he would turn around and spend on liquor. And the Marshal would often let him sleep on the comfy jail cell beds. Not always, but sometimes when he couldn't quite seem to get back to his own bed.
In the corner near Miss Kitty, as always, was Sam. Good old Sam who slipped him money when he knew he was flat out broke and had no chance of seeing any anytime soon. Sam, whose last name he didn't even know for sure.
In the front, surrounded by his friends, stood Festus Haggen who made sure he had a meal to eat every day, even when Louie knew perfectly well the man didn't have enough money to feed himself sometimes. Festus, who shared his sparse living area with him and worried about him constantly.
Festus continued to regale the group with another story. How many of Festus' stories were true he didn't know and didn't want to know. It was enough he cared to tell them to him at all and include him in the circle.
Smiling, he watched Festus throw his arms wide to emphasize a point in his story, and then out of the corner of his eye caught Louie peering in, his coat tight about him. Suddenly, he was rushing towards the door and throwing it open wide, letting a gust of frigid air inside.
"Wall, Louie! Whatcha doin' standin' out here in the cold? Git yerself in here. We bin waitin' fer ya!"
Louie entered slowly, glancing about at the people assembled inside and was immediately enveloped by Miss Kitty and Dillon and Doc, who handed him a glass filled with an amber fluid. He looked up in surprise till Doc smiled, winked at him and said, "Cider, Louie. Cider."
Raising his own glass, Festus turned to the rest of the people in the room. "Wall, now that Louie's here we can git started on that turkey Pete done cooked us up and open them presents stacked in the corner over thar," he said gesturing to a pile of gaily wrapped packages Louie hadn't noticed before. "Ya know," Festus continued on, his face scrunched up in thought, "this here reminds me of the time my Aunt George cooked..."
His words were interrupted by a raucous call from the back of the room of "Festus! No more stories. Let's eat!"
Festus glared at the offender and raised his glass. "All right! But first, we toast! To Dodge City and everone here who makes it their home! Wherever they be from, Merry Christmas!"
Cries of "Merry Christmas" reverberated around the room and glasses were lifted and drained.
Louie raised his glass when the others did and took a healthy swallow. He grimaced at the unfamiliar, sweet flavor then smacked his lips in appreciation and turned his eyes to those that surrounded him.
These people had accepted him and he was grateful once more he had stumbled, literally, into this town filled with people that didn't care what his past was. People that didn't care that he drank to forget or why he drank to forget or even what it was he had to forget. He only knew they cared and it was enough. More than enough, it was everything.