Then Give Something Away
"Maaatt...I've been thinking."
In the darkness of the ornate bedroom above the Long Branch Saloon, Matt Dillon chuckled. "Why do I always get nervous when you begin a conversation with those words and that tone?"
"Guess you're just a big ol' scaredy cat at heart," she giggled. "Big, brave lawman gets nervous when his little woman talks to him. I wouldn't want to frighten you, Marshal Dillon, so never mind. I'll just go to sleep."
"Good...sweet dreams."
Two minutes later the nearly asleep marshal felt soft fingertips walking across his bare chest. He let out a deep snore and brushed at the moving fingers much as he would a pesky bug out on the trail.
Once again Kitty retreated.
Another two minutes passed, and he felt soft toes creeping up his long leg.
"Kitty...it's my duty to remind you that I'm bigger and stronger than you are."
"So?"
"So are you sure you want to start something you know you can't finish?"
"I do, and trust me, I can finish it, too. But first I really do want to talk to you."
"You sound serious…what is it?"
"I've been thinking..."
"You said that before."
"Well, I'm still thinking. Now stop teasing and listen to me."
One long arm reached out and drew her against his side. "Okay...I'm listening."
She took a deep breath and began, "I want to open the Long Branch for Thanksgiving. I..."
"Can't," he interrupted. "Ford County law strictly prohibits the sale of alcohol on national holidays, including Thanksgiving Day and Election Day. You know that, Kitty."
"I don't want to sell alcohol, Matt. I want to invite the entire town, or at least anybody who has no place else to go, no family, no money. I want to invite all of them to have Thanksgiving Dinner right here at the Long Branch."
"You sure you're up to it? It's going to be a lot of work, and you have only two days left between now and the big day."
"I'm sure. I really want to do this, Matt. And I'll have help—Sam and several of the girls and Louie and... Don't worry, I can get it together in time."
"This is really important to you, isn't it? Is it because..." His deep voice trailed off and softened, "because of what happened?"
"In part, yes," she responded as visions of her own body sprawled in the dirt of Front Street, bleeding, broken, and bullet-ridden, filled her mind. "But…well, something good came out of that experience, too, Matt. It reminded me that I have so much to be thankful for, not just pretty clothes and jewelry and material things, but I have you. And Doc. And Festus…Newly…Sam. I have a town full of friends who care about me. It's only right to share what I have with those who have so little."
Darkness hid the tears welling in his blue eyes as his own visual recalled that slim form fighting for life in Doc's office. Her body may have appeared fragile, but the spirit within it was made of finest steel. He pressed his lips against her auburn curls. "All right, you win. And I suppose your plans involve me in some way?"
"Well, I can't legally open the saloon without your permission. And the town's pretty quiet now, so I was thinking maybe you and Festus, Quint and Newly could get in some hunting and fishing?"
"Uh hunh. And assuming we do manage to catch or kill this dinner you're planning, just how do you intend to cook all this food?"
"Uh…" She thought quickly. "Um...on big spits out back. The women can cook all the vegetables and bake the pies at home and bring them in. The men can take care of the chicken and turkey and other game. I can do this, Matt, really I can...well, I can do it with lots of help from everyone else."
He moved over her, his warm mouth seeking hers in the dark. "I know you can do it, Kitty. You can do anything you put your mind to. Speaking of which, isn't there something you declared you could finish? Feel like finishin' it with me right now?"
"Mmmmm…." The fingers of her left hand laced themselves into his graying curls and held his face close against hers. Her right hand moved slowly over his broad back, caressing gently, tracing scars of old wounds. There were so many...each one a testament to his many years as a lawman and one more reminder of how very much she had to be grateful for when she bowed her head on Thanksgiving Day.
00000
The next two days were a whirlwind of activity for Kitty and anyone who crossed her path. Her usually neat hair escaped from its coiffure early each day and by evening was streaming in varying shades of red down her back and across her shoulders. Her sapphire eyes were dark and sparkling, her cheeks were flushed and she hummed as she worked. Kitty was a happy woman.
By Thanksgiving morning the alley behind the Long Branch was filled with the tantalizing aromas of various meats and fowl—wild turkeys, chickens, rabbits and deer roasting on spits, and soups—vegetable and butternut squash—bubbling in large cauldrons. Inside, the bar and tables, the floors and walls had been scrubbed and polished to a high shine. Tablecloths donated by the women in town covered the green felt in a variety of colors and patterns, and fresh sunflowers and mums stood tall in borrowed vases that adorned the tables and bar. The bar itself served as the groaning board where the various offerings were arrayed on large platters so that each person could pass by and select what he or she desired.
In addition to the soups, meats and fowl, Kitty and the women of Dodge had amassed an amazing array of mashed potatoes and yams, corn pudding, green beans, sauerkraut and three kinds of squash, creamed spinach, bread stuffing and chestnut, too; warm cornbread and rolls, apple cider and coffee, and topping everything off pumpkin, apple, pecan and sweet potato pies.
Everyone had been asked to bring his or her own plate and utensils, so the table settings were a mish mash of fine heirloom china, tin plates, blue speckled enamelware and everyday crockery. No one cared, and the odd combinations added a homey touch to the spirit of the holiday.
At the end of the meal, Doc rose from his chair and pulled a yellowed newspaper clipping from his pocket. "I found this little poem in the Baltimore American back when I was in medical school. It's called A Good Thanksgiving, and it's a pretty good way to live one's life. And it's the way Kitty Russell lives her life, not only on Thanksgiving, but each and every day." He removed his spectacles from their old worn case, fitted the wires over his ears, cleared his throat and began to read:
Said old Gentleman Gay on a Thanksgiving Day,
"If you want a good time, then give something away."
So he sent a fat turkey to Shoemaker Price,
And the shoemaker said, "What a big bird, how nice.
And since a good dinner's before me, I ought
To give poor Widow Lee the small chicken I bought."
"This fine chicken, oh, see," said the pleased Widow Lee,
"And the kindness that sent it, how precious to me.
I would like to make someone as happy as I.
I'll give Washwoman Biddy my big pumpkin pie."
"Oh, sure," Biddy said, "'Tis the queen of all pies.
Just to look at its yellow face gladdens my eyes.
Now it's my turn, I think, and a sweet ginger cake
For the motherless Finnigan children I'll bake."
"A sweetcake all our own, 'tis too good to be true,"
Said the Finnigan children Rose, Danny and Hugh;
"It smells sweet of spice, and we'll carry a slice
To little lame Jake, who has nothing that's nice."
"Oh, I thank you and thank you," said little lame Jake,
"Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful cake,
And, oh, such a big slice. I will save all the crumbs,
And will give them to each little sparrow that comes."
And the sparrows they twittered, as if they would say,
Like old Gentleman Gay, "On a Thanksgiving Day,
If you want a good time, then give something away." *
As Doc folded his glasses back into their case and sat down, Marshal Matt Dillon rose to his full height and pulled the strikingly beautiful saloon keeper up from her chair to stand beside him. Looking into the crowd he said, "And here's the lovely lady you have to thank for organizing all this." He turned to her with all the love his big heart could hold shining in his eyes and smiled shyly. Then, in front of his entire town, the stoic marshal bent down and lightly brushed his lady's lips with his own as the room erupted into applause.
The End
*Poem by Marian Douglas, 1842-1913