Four

The cloakroom smelled of wet wool mittens and stale lunch buckets. School was out and there was a flurry of activity around the little boy who sat on the floor pulling up his galoshes. Standing in front of him were blue eyed, blond haired Hortense and Lavinia Harris. The two little girls looked scornfully down at Christopher, "Well you maybe the head angel, but all eyes will be on me and Hortense because we will be beautiful. In case you forgot Christopher, Miss Helgemoe fashioned for us the most magnificent angel gowns ever last year, complete with gossamer wings and golden halos."

Lavinia ran a hand under her long honey colored curls making a show of flipping them in the air. "Yes, our Papa always calls us his 'little angels' because we are so pretty."

Hortense sneered, "Christopher you are going to be the ugliest angel in the whole history of Dodge City Public School. Who ever heard of a boy being the head angel?! I bet you'll show up in some dumb old costume, cause you haven't even got a Ma to make sure you have a nice one."

Scrambling to his feet, Christopher bristled, "I have too! I have Miss Kitty, she's my mother now."

Hortense nudged Lavinia and scoffed, "She's back working in the saloon! I heard Mother telling Papa that she figured it would happen." In a near perfect mimic of her stepmother, Susan Bart Harris, Lavinia taunted, "Once a saloon tramp always a saloon tramp."

Christopher balled his fists in anger, "You take that back!"

"Won't neither, `cause it's true, and you know it Christopher."

Moving his face in front of hers, he said, "Is not, is not!"

Standing in the cloakroom doorway, Miss Bowman eyed the situation, "Children, what's going on in here?" Knowing the nature of the relationship between Christopher and the Harris girls, the young teacher sought to defuse a volatile situation, "Hortense, Lavinia your father is waiting for you."

"Yes Miss Bowman." the two girls chorused. As they walked past Christopher, Hortense stuck out her tongue, while Lavinia hissed. "She is too."

GS GS GS

Matt Dillon had finally gotten the twins down for a nap. He wanted nothing more than to sleep right along with him. But, he still had chores to do. The wash was finished but the drying diapers would require folding. They were strung from one end of the kitchen to the other. He had a chicken roasting in the oven and potatoes boiling on the stove top. He was peeling carrots when he heard the jingle bells of the Roniger's sleigh signaling Chris was being dropped off from school..

The back door slammed. "Shhhh." Matt warned. "Doc and the babies are napping."

Chris rolled his eyes and made a show of tiptoeing through the kitchen with boots muddied by winter slop. He threw his jacket on the floor, followed by soggy hat and wet mittens.

"Hey!" Dillon scolded. "I just washed that floor, take off those boots and hang up your gear."

The nine year old narrowed his eyes but did as he was told. Coming back to the kitchen he remarked with uncustomary sarcasm, "Nice apron Marshal."

Dillon scowled, and adjusted the ruffled garment so that his shirtfront was covered, just as the potatoes boiled over spilling scalding water down the stove to the floor. Dillon lifted the hot kettle from the burner. "Christopher, grab some rags!" From across the room, the little boy opened the drawer which contained the kitchen towels pulling it so hard its clean contents fell to the boot muddied floor.

"Oops!" he stated looking at the mess.

"Don't just stand there throw me that rag!" Dillon ordered.

Without hesitation, Chris tossed the towel but it fell short of its mark forcing Dillon to put the kettle back to the burner to grab the cloth. At contact with the hot stovetop the pot started boiling over again.

When the situation was under control Dillon turned to look at Christopher, who was half-heartedly stuffing the dirty towels back into the drawer. Reining in his temper, Matt decided a fresh approach was needed. "Well, that's taken care of. Set the table for me would you Chris?"

With a whine his adopted son responded, "I don't wanna, `sides that's women's work. Do I look like a girl?"

The last few days had taught the veteran cowboy a lesson or two, "Christopher, around here there isn't women's work and men's work, there's just work. You are expected to help."

To the big man's surprise, he saw tears welling in the boy's eyes. Standing his ground, Christopher stated, "I'm not gonna. I'm not gonna do it. I'm not a girl, and I'm not gonna do it."

"Fine. Then you can go right on up to your room. Give things some quiet thought and when you're ready to behave you're welcome to come back and join us for supper."

Christopher opened his mouth to say something, than shut it abruptly and ran from the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom. Puppy the dog ran up the stairs after him.

Once in the safety of his room the little boy let loose the tears. He wanted Miss Kitty; he didn't like it that she was away. It made him miss his own Mama all the more. He didn't like that she was working in a saloon, and he didn't like it that he was forced to defend her to the Harris girls. What's more, he didn't like the Harris girls.

Marshal wouldn't understand any of these feelings, of that Christopher was sure. He was so big and strong, how could he identify with a little boy's insecurities and loneliness. There was a wall of undefined emotion separating the two that neither man nor child had been able to completely break down.

Christopher sat on the floor with his head hidden in his drawn up knees, and his arms wrapped around his legs. Faithful Puppy nudged his wet nose under the child's arm. The boy raised his head and the dog licked away the tears.

GS GS GS

His stomach was growling, but there was no way he was going back downstairs. He sat on his bed trying to figure out what to do. Life had suddenly become so complicated. He tried to imagine what Miss Kitty would tell him. She would say, `Organize your thoughts Christopher, then proceed accordingly.` Well, he supposed the first problem he had to solve was what to wear for the Christmas pageant. He had to rig up some kind of angel costume. But what the heck did an angel wear?

Christopher reluctantly thought of Hortense and Lavinia. He tried to recall what the girls had worn the previous year. A vague recollection came to mind of shiny material and netting and sparkles that had been sewn onto the fabric. Certainly he wanted nothing to do with shine, sparkles and netting. He didn't want there to be any doubt he was a boy angel. He glanced around his room and his eyes stopped when they came to his pillowcase. "Sheets!" he whispered, smiling with relief, "I can use my sheets."

Pulling the bedclothes from the mattress he held them up and tried to figure where armholes would go, then using his pocketknife he cut two slits into the sheeting. Standing on a chair so he could look in the small mirror, which hung over his dresser, he tried his creation on. He had misjudged the placement of the openings. There was plenty of sheet left so he tried again. And again he had miscalculated. His top sheet was soon in tatters and he was forced to use the bottom. In the end his sheets were ruined and he was still without his angelic raiment.

He was mad at the whole world the next morning. He was so quiet at breakfast that Dillon worried he might be sick. The old doctor noticed too, and placed his hand to the child's forehead testing for a fever. "You alright Chris?" Doc asked. "Anything hurt; ears, throat, stomach?"

"Nothin' hurts Doc." he replied in an annoyed voice.

It didn't take a mother to tell something was bothering the boy. Asking Doc to keep an eye on the twins Dillon decided to drive Christopher to school himself. He was hoping for a chance to get the boy to talk about whatever was troubling him.

As they were seated side by side, Dillon offered, "You know, if something is worrying you, you could tell me?"

Christopher sullenly replied, "Nothin's wrong."

"Well, just so you know. I may not be able to fix what's wrong, but sometimes just having someone share in a burden makes for a lighter load."

The conversation ended there, much to Dillon's disappointment. A man of few words, he seemed to have found a match in his young son. After leaving the child off at the school, Matt decided to stop in at the Long Branch. He had an awful ache in his heart that only acertain red head could ease.

Double doors kept the wind and cold at bay, but the saloon was still a drafty place to be and only the near proximity of the pot-bellied stove kept Kitty Dillon's toes warm. She had completed inventory for the week and was busy working on the books when the front doors opened with a whoosh of cold air.

Business had been steady that morning, a constant stream of customers looking for a little bracer against the December chill. Without looking up, she hollered, "Shut the door, I can't afford to heat the outside too."

A smile pulled at the corner of his lips and his blue eyes softened at the sight of her. "Yes ma'am." He replied loud enough for her to hear.

Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice, her heart beating a staccato rhythm at the nearness of him. "Matt." She said standing and moving to him, "Oh Matt."

He removed his hat, slapping the snow from its brim against his thigh. "Got something there to warm a fella up?" He asked as she drew near.

Her eyes were shining. "Oh I think I can find something." She took his hand and led him to her table by the stove. "Matt, your hands are like ice!" She poured him a cup of hot coffee and offered him the mug, "here, wrap your hands around this."

His grin was decidedly boyish, "I can think of a few other things I'd rather wrap my hands around to warm them up."

She could feel the heat rise to her face as she locked eyes with him. The saloon suddenly seemed crowded, too full of people to say or do what her heart wanted most. Instead she asked, "How are the twins Matt? I've missed them so, and Christopher and Doc and Festus. How is everyone?"

"Everyone misses you honey. We need you Kitty."

"It won't be long, only another week. Matt, I know how unfair this has been to you. But, it has meant so much to Miss Hannah. You know, those girls she hired must have been giving drinks away for free. It's taken me all morning to get these books in order." She slammed the ledger closed and smiled into Dillon's face. "Tell me about Jimmy and Bethy."

"The twins are doing fine. They miss you, but between Doc and me we've kept them in clean diapers. Hey! Jimmy even used the potty chair the other day!"

"He did!"

"Yup!" Dillon replied proudly.

"And Christopher, how is he doing?"

"Well, Christopher is having some problems. I'm not sure what's going on with him. I guess he's just growing up some. Misses you - like the rest of us."

"Tell him I love him, would you Matt?"

Frustration born of hard work and lonely nights welled up in Dillon, "Listen Kitty, forget this foolishnesses and come home. This place can run itself for a few more days. We need you now."

"This is not foolishness. This is my business; I still own a share of this saloon. The Long Branch is our future as much as Silver Creek Ranch is."

"You are one stubborn woman to put this..." he made a wide sweeping gesture with his hand, "ahead of the needs of the people who count on you."

"Hannah and Sam count on me too." She reminded him.

He was well and truly angry now. Standing, he placed the snow dampened Stetson back on his head, "Thanks for the drink." He replied as he dug into his pocket for a coin to toss on the table. She picked up his money and looked at him with confusion on her face. "Wouldn't want to mess up your bookkeeping." He explained.