Chapter Two
"Chester's taken, Ma," said Madelyn, as Ma came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "I'm walking him to Doc's."
"Don't trouble yerself, Miss Madelyn," said Chester. "I'll make it alright."
"Now, don't you tire out, arguing it, Chester," said Ma. "Let Madelyn go with you."
"I'll just run fetch my cape," said Madelyn.
Chester limped slowly as they walked, pausing every minute or so as coughing made him breathless. "You lean on me," said Madelyn, putting her arms around him.
"I'm too much a weight ," he said.
"No such thing," said Madelyn. "I'm a lot stronger than I look." Chester liked feeling her arms around him, her slender body pressed against his.
Mr. Dillon had lighted the lamp in the marshal's office, and Chester looked through the window as he and Madelyn passed. The marshal had left for his night out with Miss Kitty. Chester saw his box of rawhide strips where he'd left it on the table, and stopped.
"What is it?" said Madelyn. "Oh, dear, I hope you're not going to faint away."
"Forevermore, I'm nowheres close to faintin' away, Miss Madelyn," said Chester. "I jest want my box of hide pieces offen the table."
"Your hide pieces?" said Madelyn.
"Yes, ma'am. Fer braidin' up ta Doc's. He's like to make me sleep the night at his office, so's I don't haveta go back out in the cold, and I need somewhat to do so the time don't pass too wearisome in bed."
They went inside and warmed themselves a moment at the stove. Chester picked up the box and hugged it against his coat as they headed to Doc's.
Doc looked up from his desk when they came in, shook his head and rose from his chair. "You got it, Chester, by thunder," said Doc. "I was afraid of this. You been lookin' peaked for days. Hello, Madelyn."
"Hello, Doc," said Madelyn. "I'll help tend him."
"It come on me sudden on my way to the Long Branch, Doc," said Chester.
"Set on the lounge, there," said Doc. "What's in the box?"
"Rawhide strips," said Chester. "For braidin' a reata to pass the time, if I have to stay the night." A burst of coughing wracked him.
"You'll stay longer than that," said Doc. "A few days, at the least. You're too sick to go out again in this weather awhile."
Doc took the box from Chester and helped him out of his coat. "Lie back and relax," said Doc.
Looking from Doc to Miss Madelyn, Chester lay down and sighed, and the tense empty feeling that twisted him inside most of the season wafted away like snowflakes on the wind. He wanted Miss Kitty near, but he didn't fret. He knew she'd come and keep him company now that he was sick.
Doc said there wasn't much treatment for pneumonia except bed rest, chicken soup, hot toddies, and tonic to clean the blood. Madelyn went out to order a pot of soup from Delmonico's, while Doc heated a toddy of brandy, honey and lemon juice, and rubbed peppermint camphor on his patient's chest.
As Matt and Kitty ate a delicious main course of lamb roasted with herbs, mashed turnips, and tomatoes coated with egg and flour and fried in olive oil, Kitty's pragmatic forthrightness abruptly overcame her. She was living a dream with Matt, and dreams always ended when one woke up to the harsh light of morning with the day's cares.
The time had passed in their new courtship for Matt to declare his intentions, if he had any. Kitty knew it was proper for gentlemen to speak first of such things to ladies, but she could hardly in honesty call herself a lady, though she acted like one most of the time, unless provoked.
"So, where is all this leading, Matt." Kitty forked a chunk of lamb and a tomato slice, chewing while she awaited his answer.
"Where's all what leading," said Matt.
"You know." Kitty took a bite of flatbread. "The theatricals, the sociables, the buggy rides, the nice restaurants," she said around the mouthful. "The good times in my room." She took a big swallow of wine. "What's next?"
"Well, we're already doin' everything I can think of," said Matt. "Everything I can afford, that is."
"Matt." Kitty clanged her fork on the plate. "I'm asking if you intend to propose, and don't say maybe sometime beyond the distant horizon. I'm talkin' about soon."
"I never said anything about proposing, Kitty," said Matt, in that defensive, resentful way he had, that made her dander heat up. "And you never asked me about it, either."
"I'm askin' ya now."
"What are you temperin' for," said Matt.
"Matt, I just want you to answer me," Kitty said reasonably, her tone softening. "That's only fair."
"Kitty, I'm not asking you to marry me now, or anytime soon. And as for a long time from now, I don't think that far ahead, on account of the badge. Being a U.S. marshal sucks up everything in me, every day, leaving nothing for marriage. That doesn't mean I don't like being with you." Matt lowered his voice to a near whisper and leaned across the table, close to Kitty's face. "I'm not courting you so you'll let me share your bed," he said. "I'd rather be with you, talk to you, than any woman. I hope you understand."
Kitty nodded. "You explained it all, clear and honest as daylight, like you always explain things. I think I knew how it was before I asked, Matt. Years before."
Matt took her small soft hand. "Maybe you just needed to hear me say it," he said.
Kitty felt unsettled, and a bit dejected. She wanted to hear Matt say something else, but had the sense not to delude herself into believing he would.
The theatrical with Kitty and Matt as players ended that night, and Kitty had taken her bow. If Matt had not, that was his affair. He'd awakened her from her dream of keeping house as Mrs. Kathleen Dillon, Mrs. Matthew Dillon, bearing their children, and enjoying a level of respectability that Dodge would never grant her as Miss Kitty Russell, saloon proprietress.
They were quiet on the walk to the Long Branch, and Matt came inside for a beer. If he asked to spend the night, she'd say no. Though she wanted him, Kitty was careful about marking her monthly times, and knew it would show up in two or three days. She knew Matt would marry her without hesitation if she was with child. He was too honorable not to, and she couldn't bring herself to force him to it. Matt was too good for that.
Sam looked sober, like he had something to tell them. "What is it, Sam?" said Kitty, as he set a beer on the bar in front of Matt, and a cup of hot cider for Kitty.
"Chester's down with the pneumonia," said Sam. "Miss Madelyn Whitaker sent a gent in to give me the news, and asked me to let you know, Marshal. Chester's at Doc's."
"Oh, no, Matt," said Kitty. "I knew there was something wrong with him, earlier. He seemed so tired, and . . . glum."
"I thought he was just feelin' left out," said Matt. "He gets that way sometime. Looked paler than usual, but we're all pale this time of year."
Kitty took Matt's arm. "Come on, Matt," she said. "Let's go see 'im. I'll let you know how he's doin', Sam."
Chester was warmed through after chicken soup and a hot toddy. He reclined on Doc's lounge and braided rawhide pieces with Miss Madelyn, who sat beside Chester. It pleased him to watch her long slender fingers twining gracefully round the colored strips, and he liked how she paused to smile into his eyes every little while.
Although his bones hurt, just lying still winded him, and pains stabbed his chest, Chester felt in high spirits, especially anticipating Miss Kitty. She wouldn't give him a fading away feeling by looking like she was elsewhere anymore. She'd pay him particular attentions and smile at him as Miss Madelyn did now, except Miss Kitty's eyes were a beautiful lively blue and larger than Miss Madelyn's, whose eyes were small. Miss Kitty could cure a body and make him sure of himself simply by looking at him.
The marshal and Kitty were climbing the stairs to Doc's rooms now, the measured tread of Matt's boots in company with Kitty's little pattering ties, their voices mingled in conversation.
"Miss Kitty's a comin', Doc," said Chester. "And Mr. Dillon."
"I hear 'em, Chester," said Doc.
Matt opened the door, and Kitty hurried in first. Chester looked at them, his hands sunk into a mound of colorful tangled strips. They all spoke at once, with the almost frenzied talk of friends gathered over trouble, drawing Madelyn in with them, because as all of Dodge knew, she was kind, and she cared for Chester.
Matt, Kitty and Doc talked to Chester more than to one another, and glanced intently at him when talking to each other. They made him swimmy-headed, and curiously happy in a way that made his mind skitter like a loco colt.
Chester dumped his hide pieces in the box on the floor by the lounge, and threw off the blankets. "You need the blankets on, Chester," Madelyn fussed, trying to cover him.
He resisted, pushing the bedclothes off. "I'm hot, Doc," said Chester, tossing. "I wanna cold bath."
"Good heavens," said Madelyn. "That'd finish you."
Doc felt Chester's forehead and face, and slipped a thermometer under his tongue. "You're fevered, Chester," said Doc. "You couldn't stand a cold bath now. Not with pneumonia. A cool sponge, some cold drinkin' water 'll make you better."
"I'm parched, powerful," said Chester. "I'm shrivelin', Doc."
"No, you're not," said Doc. "You're too young and strong to shrivel." Kitty filled the water pitcher and a basin, and rolled her sleeves above the elbows.
"You let me sponge him, Kitty," said Madelyn. "You don't want to stain that lovely dress."
"It's a woolen," said Kitty. "And this is just water."
"Nevertheless," said Madelyn. "It's too fine a dress for nursing. My old wool skirt and cotton blouse, it won't make a difference."
Kitty filled a cup with water and handed it to Chester, who guzzled it dry, dripping it on his face and neck. "By golly, that feels good," he gasped. "That does cool the fire. More, please."
Kitty wrapped her fingers around his hand holding the cup, steadying his hand, and filled the cup again. Chester gulped the water, pausing twice to cough. "One more," he said.
"Isn't that too much?" said Madelyn.
"No, it's good for him," said Doc. "What he needs."
Kitty steadied Chester's hand again, and poured water to the brim. He blinked, calculating, then sat up, eyeing the full basin of cold water on a stand next to his elbow. There was more than one way for a body to get what he needed, and Chester felt strong enough to do it.
"Mr. Dillon," he said, drinking the water, "would you move my box of hide strips, please, so as they won't get soiled?"
"Sure," said Matt. He picked up the box and moved it to Doc's desk. Matt figured he knew what Chester had in mind.
"What's funny, Marshal?" said Madelyn, smiling. "I could use a good joke."
"Maybe you're about to see one, Miss Madelyn," said Matt.
Madelyn frowned, and looked at Chester. His normally ingenuous face wore a sly look that amused and concerned her at the same time.
Doc put his hands in his pockets, watching Chester with detached interest. There were differing medical opinions regarding the benefits and dangers of cold water immersion for fever with pneumonia. Doc had read in a newly published text that patients sometimes knew instinctively what their bodies needed, and Chester was young, with a constitution healthy enough to risk it.
Chester looked into Miss Kitty's eyes, like the sun bright behind a cloudless summer sky. Kitty smiled mischievously at him, and winked.
Chester handed his empty cup to Madelyn, then quickly picked up the basin and dumped the cold water over his head, splashing Kitty and Madelyn and soaking Doc's lounge.
"Oh, my goodness," said Madelyn, jumping up from her chair.
"I got ma bath," said Chester. He leaned over, coughing. "You shouldn't a let me do it, Doc," he rasped. "It's like knives scraping in my chest."
"Now, how was I supposed to know you'd do that, Chester," said Doc.
"You knew," said Chester. "I could tell."
"Well, maybe I did," said Doc. "I might've made a mistake, though. We'll have to get you off that lounge, into something dry and to bed. You gonna help out here, Matt, or stand there grinning? We need to move fast."
Five minutes later, Chester was clad in a dry union suit and sitting in Doc's bed, sipping a toddy while Madelyn rubbed his head with a towel. "We were quick, Doc," said Matt. "Did that dousing hurt 'im?"
"I shouldn't think so. He's no worse off, anyway, and his temperature's down.
"Madelyn, why don't you pour yourself some coffee and dry off by the stove, like Kitty's doin'? We don't want you down sick, too," said Doc.
"I'm no end sorry for wettin' you and Miss Kitty, Miss Madelyn," said Chester. "I was so burnin' hot, I couldn't think on nothin' but coolin'."
"Oh, don't worry a minute, Chester," said Madelyn. "It's just a little water. I'll be dry in no time."
"Where'll you sleep, Doc?" said Chester. "The lounge is wet."
"On the table," said Doc.
"The table ain't comfortable for sleepin'," said Chester.
"It's comfortable enough for me," said Doc. "I can sleep anywhere."
"Doc, I think me and Kitty and Miss Madelyn should say goodnight, so Chester can sleep," said Matt.
"I'm eased in ma mind to be home, Mr. Dillon," Chester said drowsily. "Like summertime comin'. I won't head out to California awhile yet, maybe, seein' as ah'm jest home. I'll rest some, first."
"Alright, Chester," said Matt. Chester's eyes closed.
"What does all that mean, Doc," said the marshal, in a hushed tone. "About bein' home and goin' to California, and summertime."
"No cause for alarm, Matt," said Doc, in the same quiet tone. "That's just . . . Chester."
Chester stayed a week in Doc's rooms, as Doc said the weather was too cold to take the short walk to the marshal's office. Chester thought if he ever came to love Miss Madelyn, it would happen then, while he was sick and she nursed him.
Though he liked her and her company, he didn't miss her when she left Doc's each night for her room at Ma Smalley's, and Chester didn't think about her much, or with any strong feeling when she wasn't with him. He had no desire to hold or kiss Miss Madelyn, or even hold her hand. He felt grateful, and had a mild sentiment toward her, and that was all.
On the day Doc said that Chester could walk to the marshal's office the next morning, Madelyn gave him a sad smile. Chester was up and dressed, and they sat braiding rawhide, using Doc's desk as a table.
"You needn't worry about me, Chester," said Madelyn. "I know you don't love me, and I've settled it with myself. We're friends, right?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Chester. "You're as fine a friend as any I had all my days, Miss Madelyn. None could be better."
"You're so sweet," said Madelyn. She touched her palm to his face.
"It's truth, is all," said Chester.
They heard bootsteps on the stairs. "Is Doc coming back from his calls, already?" said Madelyn. "Why, he only just left."
"It ain't Doc, whoever it is," said Chester. "Doc's steps is different from them."
The door opened, and a gentleman stepped in. Madelyn gasped and clapped her hands to her face, letting a length of colored braid fall to the floor. The gentleman removed his hat, beaming at her.
"Victor," Madelyn whispered.
"Hello, Madelyn," he said. "It's been twenty years, but I've finally come to claim you, if you'll have me."
"Oh, Victor," she said. "Oh, my goodness." Madelyn ran to him, and they embraced.
"I had a time finding you," said Victor. "Mrs. Smalley said you were nursing a man at the doctor's office. She said the man's name. I forget."
"That's me," said Chester, standing up. "I'm most well. Chester Goode's the name."
"Victor Haley. I take it Madelyn told you about me?" said Victor, keeping his arm around Madelyn.
"Miss Madelyn said you're a widower never betrothed to her," said Chester.
"But Madelyn and I had an understanding since my wife died," said Victor. "I was her beau, you see, before I married my wife."
"Miss Madelyn spoke of it," said Chester. "Miss Madelyn's a lady, Mr. Haley."
"I trust . . . you so treated her, while she . . . nursed you," said Victor.
"I did," said Chester.
"Chester's a gentleman, Victor," said Madelyn. "And a friend. And yes, I'll have you," she said, smiling into his handsome face. They kissed, and Chester felt his face flush hot.
"Let's find the parson," said Victor. "Then we'll leave for Chicago today, if that's alright with you, my love."
"Oh . . . my, well, yes, I suppose so," said Madelyn. "Good heavens, this is all happening so fast."
She moved to Chester. "I had a little talk with Kitty, Chester, just us two," said Madelyn. "When you were bedridden. I said it wasn't just the contagion. You got lonesome, and that made you poorly. Kitty said she'd tell the marshal and Doc, and they'd try and remember to make time for you."
"Oh," said Chester, "it ain't that I'm not obliged to you, Miss Madelyn; I am. But my sickness warn't Miss Kitty's fault at all, nor Mr. Dillon's or Doc's. I've always been a mite lonely."
"You're a loyal friend to them, Chester," said Madelyn. She took his hand. "If they're ever real busy again, and you get too lonely, it might be time to move to California. Pull up your stakes and make a fresh start."
"I'll keep that ta mind, Miss Madelyn," said Chester. She pressed his fingers, then turned and followed Victor out the door.
Alone in Doc's office, Chester felt untroubled and easy. He thought on Miss Madelyn's words, which brought to mind bright prints and tintypes of mountains, a forest of trees as tall as the sky, a desert with flowering plants and cactus, and a quiet crystal-blue sea. Chester sat at the desk, picked up his rawhide and started braiding. He hummed a tune, making it up as he went along.