Seven
In her room, Matilda stood against the closed door with her arms folded across her chest; water dripping from her soggy curls merged with tears and snot on her blotchy red face. Impotent rage at life burned within her. She stomped her feet in angry frustration. When she'd calmed herself some, she went to the dresser and took Miss Kitty from her resting place. She held the doll close, feeling the softness of the hair and smelling the faint aroma of sweet sachet. "Mama." She said tenderly. However, it was in the saying of the word that the rage was unleashed. "Mama." Mama, who had never loved her enough to stay, enough to give her a real home - Mama, who always made big promises about "someday". Mama, who had left her, and never come back. Like a volcano working up steam and needing release, the rage boiled over. "I hate you! I hate you Miss Kitty!"
With all her might she fired the beloved doll at the wall. It made a satisfying smack as it collided head-on with Ma Smaley's rose-vine wallpaper. Matilda stood still for a moment relishing vengeance. Then the horror of what she'd done struck her like a physical blow. She ran to Miss Kitty, falling to her knees to gather the doll up in her arms to hold to her heart. She rocked back and forth crying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," sobbing the words over and over again. She couldn't bear to look at the injuries she'd inflicted knowing only that they must be grave because of the horrible sound the crash had made.
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Matt Dillon knocked on Matilda's door thirty minutes later. When there was no answer he opened it and went in. He saw his daughter curled up in the corner fast asleep. He walked closer and stood watching her. The child's cheeks were still flushed and the tears hadn't dried from her eyes for tiny droplets still clung to her pale lashes. The big man wanted nothing more in life at that moment than to gather her close to him. He knew Matilda would never stand for that. So instead, he reached out a large hand and cupped it around her tiny shoulder. "Matilda?" he whispered.
She stirred, but not much. He reached a hand under her legs and moved the other around her back and picked her up. She was so light, so tiny and it came to him that the force of her personality made her seem much larger than she really was. He carried her to the bed and laid her down. Letting her sleep seemed more important than getting her in bedclothes, so he merely slipped off her shoes and pulled the downy comforter over her. He had turned to leave when her sleepy voice stopped him. "Miss Kitty " she said, "I want Miss Kitty."
He walked back to her, His words came out gruffer than he'd intended. "She's gone, remember?"
Matilda stretched out her hand, "My dolly, Miss Kitty."
"Oh," he said, with an involuntary sigh. He gave the twilight darkening room a quick scan and saw the doll lying in a heap near the corner Matilda had been sleeping in. He moved back and bent down to retrieve the toy. He turned the doll over in his hand and noticed a thin crack running across the delicate porcelain cheek falling just below a beauty mark. Dillon looked closer, catching the drift of a familiar scent and recognizing the doll's soft red hair as that of her namesake. For a moment his fingers tightened their grip before he placed the broken toy in the little girl's arms.
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It was a warm night. The room was stuffy. Sydney Elvira Tuttwell sat up in bed. Her mind was racing and she was hot and uncomfortable. Her rigid schedule demanded she get eight hours of sleep every night, it was a rare occasion when she didn't. Her practical white muslin-sleeping gown seemed heavy on her skin. Sweat made it stick to her back. Her hair was still damp too, for Ma had helped her wash out the mashed potatoes shortly after supper. The scent of the soap still clung to the moist locks. Taffy Boyd had been kind enough to lend her a bar of Cashmere Bouquet when Sydney Elvira had found her own supply empty. The smell was flowery and sweet, completely different from the pine tar soap that usually fragranced her hair. She pulled her thick mane away from her face with spread fingers, noticing that it felt softer to the touch than it usually did. Her mind flashed to Matt Dillon and his hell child daughter. No wonder she couldn't settle down she told herself. She had a whole day of trying to educate that horrible young girl to look forward to. Finally deciding a little fresh air might calm mind and body enough to induce sleep, she got up and opened the window. She moved the room's one chair so that it was situated in front of the breeze and sat down.
Moonbeams and starlight illuminated the night. For a moment she sat there looking out on Ma's garden, soaking in the nocturnal music. It was as she watched out the window that she saw Marshal Dillon walking slowly down the garden path. He seemed weighed down and deep in thought and she realized the burden of sorrow still hung heavy upon him. Compassion welled within her and she was filled with a desire to ease his bereavement.
She heard the window go up in the room next door to her, Taffy must be hot tonight too she thought. It wasn't more than a ten count before she heard Taffy's door open and close and the sound of hurried footsteps reverberating down the hall. And then, there was Taffy running down the path to Matt Dillon. Whether it was an inspiration born of Matilda's actions or a complete accident only Taffy knew, but three steps in front of the Marshal, she tripped falling right in the lawman's arms. That was enough for Sydney Elvira. She closed the window and went back to bed, finding sleep even more difficult for now she had another image to contend with.