Ecclesiastes Three 2
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She awoke with a headache and an upset stomach to the sounds of two men talking. Looking about her, she saw she was in a bedroom, plainly furnished but clean and neat and oddly comforting. She was lying on a large bed dressed in a soft white flannel gown. Forcing herself to get up, she rose and stepped to the doorway in search of the voices she heard.
"Hey," she weakly called to them. "Where am I?" Gripping the doorframe she began to sag and she now realized, getting up had not been a good idea.
"Kitty," one of the men exclaimed as he quickly stepped across the room and effortlessly picked her up, gently carrying her back to the bed. "Honey, you shouldn't be up."
She looked up at the big man with the beautiful blue eyes with a complete look of puzzlement. "Who?" She asked.
He reached for her hand as he settled her on the bed but she pulled it back, uncertain of this man or his intentions despite the kindness she saw reflected in his features. "Kitty, it's alright. You're safe. You're home."
"Home?" Her brow crinkled in confusion as the other, older man stepped up beside him. "I live here?" She looked again at the room she was in.
The older man placed a hand on the big man's shoulders. "Matt, why don't you step outside and let me examine my patient?"
The man he called, Matt, hesitated and she could see something flicker across his face, but what, she wasn't sure. "I'll be just outside here." He gave her a gentle smile before turning and walking out.
She didn't answer as she watched him retreat. Her focus shifted to the elder man who had taken a seat beside her on the bed.
"Now then, young lady, let's get a look at you." The white haired man took a swipe of his mustache as he pulled a pair of spectacles from his vest pocket and put them on.
"Who are you?" She shrank back from him as she had the other one, not sure if she wanted him near her, much less 'getting a look' at her.
The man paused and studied her face intently for several moments before answering. "My name is Doctor Adams. This is my office that you're in."
"And I live here?" She asked. Try as she might, she couldn't remember. The room, the men, nothing looked or sounded familiar. Even her own name, Kitty, the man had called her, sounded foreign to her ears.
"Well, no." The doctor answered. "Not here in these rooms. But you do live here in town, in Dodge."
She searched her memory for that name, for anything that would lift the corners of the darkness she found herself in but nothing came to mind. "That man called me… Kitty?"
"That's right." The gray haired gentleman responded. "Kitty Russell. And that man's name is Matt Dillon. He's the Marshal here."
She grimaced as her headache increased sharply and her stomach rolled over in sympathy. "Oh…." Grabbing her head, she rolled to her side, desperately praying for it to stop.
The old man rose from her side and swiftly crossed the room to a tall chest against the wall. Filling a glass with water, he mixed a packet of some sort of powder into it and quickly brought it back. "Here, Honey," he said as he helped her to a semi-sitting position. "Take this and it'll make you feel a little better."
She was in so much misery at that moment she would have drank poison if it had held the promise of relief. Taking the glass in shaky hands, she drained the contents before handing it back to the seemingly friendly physician beside her. "Thank you," she said in a ragged voice.
"Just lay back there and relax," he instructed. "Let that medicine have a chance to work."
Taking a deep breath, she did as he told her and soon felt her misery lift replaced with extreme sleepiness. Within a few more moments, her breathing evened out and she was asleep.
Gently, so as not to disturb her, Doc gave her a cursory examination before pulling the comforter up to her chin and leaving the room, letting her sleep.
Matt was pacing anxiously in the outer office. "How is she?" he asked the second Doc appeared.
"She's asleep." Doc answered with a sigh. "Right now that's the best thing for her."
"What's wrong with her, Doc?" Matt asked. "She acted like she didn't even know me."
Doc wearily scrubbed his face and shuffled over to the stove. Pouring himself a cup of the hot and burnt smelling liquid, he looked back sadly at the younger man he often thought of as a son.
"She doesn't know you, Matt." Doc finally answered. "She doesn't know you, or me, or even herself right now. Hitting her head, the way she did when she fell, must've robbed her of her memory. Or at least part of it. She remembers how to talk and walk and things like that, but names and faces and places are beyond her. She doesn't know a blessed thing right now. And to be honest with you, I'm not so sure that's bad."
Matt's brow furrowed. "How could her not remembering anything be good?" he asked in consternation.
Doc slumped down in his chair and looked up at the frustrated Marshal. "Matt, you were here when she was brought in. You saw how thin she is, the bruises, the sores. You sat right here and watched me wrap her broken ribs. Do you really think, remembering how she got those injuries, is good?"
Matt dropped his head. "I guess not," he muttered. "But, Doc, we don't know where she's been for the last three months, or who she's been with. As you just pointed out, she was hurt pretty bad. The only clue we have is that jacket she was wearing and it tells me nothing. I want the man who did that to her and she's the only one who can tell me who that is."
"No she can't." Doc said softly. "Right now she can't tell you anything. Besides, is that all you care about? Getting the man? What about her? What about how she feels?" Doc's frustration and anger at the marks he'd seen on Kitty was obvious.
Matt took a deep breath as he looked at the closed bedroom door. "How long do you think she'll sleep?" he finally asked.
"A few hours," Doc answered without looking up.
Matt nodded as he placed his hat on his head and turned for the door. "I'll be back."
Doc watched him leave without reply. He knew Matt needed some time alone to think about this.
Three months prior a healthy, happy woman named Kitty Russell had taken a ride out into the country to visit friends and had disappeared.
For those three months, the valiant Dodge City Marshal had searched endlessly for her. Never giving up and seldom resting until his strength or his horse gave out and he no choice but to come home. But his searches had proven fruitless.
Then two days ago, she had been brought back to town in the back of a freight wagon, having been found lying unconscious on the prairie floor, a gash on her forehead and a body that told of unimaginable abuse and something more. Something he hadn't been able to tell Matt. Something he himself didn't want to think about right then.
Pushing his coffee aside, he rose, took his bible and walked back into the bedroom to sit beside his patient and pray. As he settled in the chair, the old tome opened up on his knee to one of his favorite verses. "To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven." Looking down at the words, he didn't know the purpose for this but he had enough faith to believe that the time to laugh would be coming soon. They'd already had too much time to weep.
TBC
