A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years

I know, I know… I stated from the get-go that these vignettes were all stand-alone little morsels. But then a friend remarked that she was a mite curious regarding whatever became of Matt post- "Last Nights," seeing as how his history with escorting dangerous outlaws like Newt Monger to the gallows in Hays City has not always been so simple or even very successful at times. I decided that the aftermath of Matt & Kitty's last night would fit perfectly with another vignette idea I had cooked up a while back, so here they are perfectly melded as one. Or at least I sure do hope so. It may ameliorate your enjoyment of this tale a particle to read the original "Last Nights" vignette in Ch. 8 of this series or refresh your memory of such, but it is not necessary. This story could just as well stand on its own. Oh, and I'm afraid I've blown the whole "vignette" format out of the water for real and true with this installment. It's a Vignette on Steroids maybe...about five chapters worth. ;-) I hope you like it. Thanks for reading. ~ lj

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"Last Nights and Lingering Fears"

Part A: Waiting

by Lilyjack

A triumphant cheer burst forth from the pensive crowd, loud enough to raise the rafters of the Long Branch. Most of the saloon's patrons had been gathered round a tense game of poker for some time, the participants gazing fixedly at their cards, sweat beading on foreheads and upper lips this hot summer night. When the winning hand was at last victoriously tossed down upon the green felted table by Finn Hatcher, a good-natured whiskey drummer from Louisville, the assembled cowboys, ranch hands, sodbusters and saloon girls had hooted and applauded for the strapping working man who'd soundly beaten his opponents, among them two railroad executives, a banker and an out-of-town cattle rancher. The players pitched their losing hands upon the piled-up spoils of the game in disgust, gathered their belongings and threaded their way through the animated crowd toward the swinging doors.

Finn, mopping his forehead with a white handkerchief before poking it back into his breast pocket, grinned happily at the elegantly dressed woman standing at his shoulder. "Sure as shootin', you're my good luck charm, Miss Russell. Ain't no doubt about it!" The coal oil lanterns hanging on the walls around the room and overhead reflected in the man's sparkling hazel eyes and cast a golden glow against the deepening shadows of the night.

Kitty Russell shook her head, her fiery upswept curls set off by the subtle sheen of the lavender gray silk dress that clung closely to her womanly silhouette. In spite of the fact that she had been owner of the Long Branch Saloon for over ten years now, none of the young girls in her employ possessed a figure that could compare to hers. Or so she'd been told a time or two before.

Kitty smiled softly as Hatcher clasped her hand in his big grasp, bestowing a wide, white smile upon her. "I'm obliged to ya', Miss Russell."

She protested good-naturedly, "Now, Finn Hatcher, you know very well I'm no good luck charm. You won that game fair and square with nothin' but savvy. You've got a good head for cards on your shoulders."

"Aw, now, Miss Russell…you sure do tease a fella somethin' fierce." He had to speak up to be heard over the excited din. "I certainly 'preciate your business though, and to thank you for usin' your special charms on these here cards tonight, I'll be sure and give you a mighty good deal on my finest whiskey, yes ma'am!"

He relinquished her hand as she took a step back, bestowing another gracious smile. "Well, Finn, you know I can use all the help I can get. A deal on some of your fine Kentucky bourbon is nothin' a saloon owner in her right mind could resist."

A twinkle in the man's eye quickly lit up his face as his long arms encircled the winnings on the table, dragging them toward him. He shouted, "Drinks for ever'body, on me!"

Another uproarious hurrah from the crowd seemed to make the very walls of the establishment shake, and Kitty couldn't help but chuckle quietly as she reached to put a hand on Hatcher's shoulder. "Finn, don't spend all your winnings on beer for this rowdy bunch."

The whiskey drummer with expressive eyes, a sensitive mouth and unruly dark hair quickly replied, "As long as the money was to help you out, Miss Russell, I wouldn't mind spendin' ever' last dime of my winnin's. Not one little bit."

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, she watched the customers crowd around her tall, wizened barkeep. Sam Noonan's powerful hands belied their large size as they moved gracefully to balance delicate glassware, several in one hand, filling them with yeasty amber brew and sending one foaming mug after another sliding down the polished bar into eager patrons' hands.

The drummer followed Kitty's distracted gaze to Sam and her part-time bartender Joe at work, pouring whiskey shots as fast as he could grab clean glasses. Hatcher continued lightly, attempting to make her blue eyes dance like they customarily did, "I just wisht all my customers was as purty and charming as you are. Cain't think of a one that holds a candle to you."

The amiable Finn Hatcher had taken over the sales route his fellow whiskey drummer and friend Eddie Fitch had held when the man had died unexpectedly in the way many men out here in the west expired—through violent means. One of his old customers, Stella Damon, had shot him and left him lying in the raging inferno of her newly built saloon, a veritable palace by Dodge City standards. Now it had been turned to ashes on the dusty vacant lot.

Before Eddie's untimely demise, whenever he and Finn Hatcher had ended up in the same town, they'd gotten together and swapped stories of their travels. Finn was always eager to hear news of the famous blazing-haired proprietress of the Long Branch who sometimes had a temper to match her hair. He felt as though he already knew her when he first came to visit her establishment over… now, could it really be so long that Eddie had been gone? Two years or more? He and Miss Kitty Russell had formed a fast friendship forged in the mutual sadness they felt over Eddie's death, and spent many nights in the saloon or occasionally a dinner out reminiscing about the charming Eddie Fitch.

"You're a good man, Finn." Kitty smiled again at the drummer's obvious but undeniably heart-warming flattery.

He noticed, though, that her smile died before it ever reached her eyes. Her gaze was instead drawn to the batwing doors when they swung inward, downcast when she seemed disappointed at the stranger who entered there. She'd been watching the saloon entrance all evening, he'd observed, watching and waiting it seemed.

Finn's gaze narrowed thoughtfully as he pressed his lips together. Then he drew up a chair for Kitty to sit beside him. She began to shake her head and make excuses that she needed to go help out behind the bar, but he patted the seat firmly, looking at her with kind eyes. "Have a seat, lovely lady. You surely deserve to set down and rest a spell now, don'tcha?"

The fine silk of her dress rustled softly as she wordlessly obliged him, releasing a nearly imperceptible sigh as she straightened her skirts. Close up, just inches away, Finn noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes and the worry lines on her forehead. He averted his gaze downward to stack his winnings neatly in rows on the green felt, clearing his throat. "Where, uh…where's that big ol' marshal that tends to hang around here so much?"

Kitty shot him a look, then busied herself smoothing away a nonexistent wrinkle from her silk sleeve. Her tone was flat and neutral. "He's outta town."

Finn motioned to the extra barkeep for two glasses and a bottle. "It's just I been in Dodge nearly three whole days and haven't seen hide nor hair of him. That's kinda unusual, ain't it? Seein' as how you two seem to be purty good friends and all." He gave her a wistful smile, his greenish brown eyes carefully observing her expression.

"You notice a lot."

"When you're in my line a' work it pays to notice things."

A corner of her precisely painted lips quirked upward. "You sound like Matt."

"Do I, now?"

"Yep." Kitty stared at the drink Hatcher poured for her. She placed a hand on it but then just absently turned it in circles.

Raking a hand over his clean-shaven jaw, he mulled, "I see."

"You do?" It was more of a challenge than a question, her best poker face firmly in place.

"Yes, well, I guess even though our occupations aren't remotely alike, the marshal and I both find it helpful to study folks."

"So I suppose you've been studyin' me, huh…" Her eyes were drawn to the inward sway of the batwing doors again, but reluctantly returned to him when three young bucks burst into view, laughing uproariously at some private joke, seemingly not a care in the world.

"Maybe a little bit," he admitted, sipping his whiskey, watching her over the rim of his glass.

She tilted tired eyes up at him, forcing her tone to sound playful. "A little? I don't know as how I like bein' studied at all." Another sigh. "Finn, I should be gettin' back to work now…"

"Aw, come on' now, Miss Russell. I can see you're feelin' a little tuckered out. Just set a spell and visit with me—whatcha say?"

She lifted a manicured brow and pursed her lips, archly replying, "You're sayin' I look worn out? Finn, that's no way to talk to a lady."

"Oh, gracious no," he exclaimed in good humor. "You look like a vision as always, Miss Russell. Trust me." His lips turned up at the corners, his eyes twinkling, and she couldn't help but softly smile back at him.

"Oh, Finn,' She shook her head and made a humorless sound that passed for a laugh. "You're incorrigible. I don't feel much like a vision right about now, truth be told."

"Well, I do know that you don't appear to be your usual vivacious self, my dear." He crossed his arms and quietly examined her tension-filled expression. The bluest eyes he'd ever seen in all his born days had seemed unfocused that evening, often staring into space, and he'd discreetly gazed at the swell of her beautiful breasts over the low scoop-necked lavender dress as she'd sighed deeply and often. Finn hadn't been teasing her at all when he'd said she was a vision, in spite of being tired and obviously out-of-sorts. She was even wearing her hair differently tonight. Softer, looser, like she hadn't taken the time to twist it up tight like usual. But Finn liked it. It almost looked as if he reached out and quickly plucked out her fancy tortoiseshell comb, it would all come tumbling down her back and white shoulders in a mass of shining curls, the way ladies wore their hair only in the privacy of their own bedrooms.

"Finn?" She was looking at him expectantly.

He started. "Yes! I'm sorry, I was just wonderin'… Usin' my salesman's all-seeing eye, ya see… I was just wonderin' what's got you so worried. I mean, you don't hafta tell me if you don't want to. I don't wanna be too forward. I cain't lie to ya' now-I'm just concerned is all, Miss Russell."

"Finn…" She gave another deep sigh, then reluctantly replied, "There's really nothing you can do to help." She spoke in quiet, dulcet tones, and he had to lean closer to hear her over the din of the bar's noisy revelers.

"Your troubles wouldn't have anything to do with that big marshal now, would it?" He lowered his own voice.

Kitty hedged, avoiding his question. "You really are kind to be concerned, Finn."

Hazel eyes took on a wary expression. "I was afraid of that…"

"Afraid of what?"

"Has he gone off and left you high and dry?" His expression turned dark, his posture instantly alert.

"What? Why, what would make you…?" She attempted to keep the astonishment from her tone and to keep her face neutral. She quietly insisted, "No, Finn, you've got it all wrong..."

Finn cast his eyes down as he stammered a bit, "I mean, pardon me, if you will, Miss Russell, for intrudin' upon somethin' of such a private nature, but, well, you did say he was outta town and you've seemed so preoccupied the past couple of evenin's, I just…"

"No, Finn, honestly…" Kitty sighed, her eyes darting to check if anyone was within earshot. Merrymakers drinking free beers paid them no mind, even brothers Myrl and Tuck Morris, who normally pestered her with their good-natured flirtations. They were busy downing their frothy mugs in mere seconds and pounding on the bar for refills. She took a fortifying drink of her own whiskey and softly explained, "Marshal Dillon and Quint Asper went outta town to escort a prisoner to be hanged. In Hays City. Have you heard of Newt Monger?"

"Oh." Finn's dark brows beetled, his face a curious cross between relief and disappointment. He quickly tossed back the rest of his whiskey and gently encouraged her. "I read about that thieving murderer in the papers. Your marshal was the one to capture him, now, ain't that right?"

"He sure was." Her shoulders straightened and her head lifted, her tired eyes shining for a moment in quiet pride.

Finn gazed at her, wistfully wishing he had a woman like Kitty Russell on his side…by his side. He cleared his throat, "So…when do you expect he'll be back?"

A shadow passed over her face. "We got a telegram when he and Quint arrived safely in Hays several days ago…" She looked down at her hands. "…almost a week now."

"Perhaps he was simply…delayed… returnin' home," he offered helpfully.

She pressed her crimson lips together and gave a small affirmative nod, stating matter-of-factly, "I'm sure you're right." But her eyes seemed to lose focus again as if her imagination were getting the best of her.

Finn attempted to lighten the mood, stating airily, "You need to take care of yourself, my dear. Have you been gettin' any rest? Have you eaten?"

"Well, I… Yes, of course…" His questions caught her unaware, and even she realized she didn't sound too convincing.

He firmly interrupted her, "Let's us go to dinner. No sense in settin' around here in this noisy, boisterous crowd, frettin'. Come with me to Delmonico's. How long has it been since you ate a decent meal?"

"Oh, Finn, I wouldn't be good company tonight. But I truly thank you for the offer."

"You've gotta keep your strength up," he kindly cajoled.

Back straight, shoulders squared, she insisted, "I'll be alright. I'll have something later, before I turn in for the night." She lay a hand atop his. "You're a good friend, Finn. I appreciate your concern. But I'm fine, really." She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself as well.

He gave a small, wistful smile at her words. "Thank you kindly, Miss Russell. I consider it an honor

that you call me 'friend.'" It was his turn to sigh as he poured them both another drink.

Kitty was watching Jilly Bean, her new girl from Topeka, talking and laughing with the Morris brothers at the bar, seemingly content now to share Jilly's time instead of fight over her. Jilly handled them expertly, talking and flattering both equally.

Kitty Russell never actively recruited girls like Jilly for this occupation. A female had to be made of stern stuff to withstand the perils and pitfalls of saloon life. She should know. Kitty had clawed her way up from the bottom rung of this establishment as soon as she'd been able, as soon as she'd earned the greenbacks, as soon as she'd laid eyes on the big man who'd made her want to leave that life behind. Made her want to share her bed and her heart with him only.

She glanced from her ruminations back to Finn, caught him guilelessly watching her again, his dark hazel eyes soft.

"You're a wonder, Miss Russell. Anybody ever tell you that? Not many women could run a place like this."

"Not really, Finn. A person just does what they have to do to keep body and soul together."

He argued, "Oh, I hafta disagree, Miss Russell. Life is plumb full a' folks who aren't able to do just that. I think you're one of the exceptions."

"Oh Finn, I'm only…" But then she spotted a familiar figure striding though the batwing doors with purpose, one steely eye squinted, searching the crowd.

The bewhiskered man spotted her and made his way over, spurs jangling, posture tense as he bent down to whisper in her ear, "I found 'im, Miss Kitty. Both of 'em."

She gripped Festus' arm hard, questioning eyes searching his, not breathing.

"He done been shot by that Monger gang, Miss Kitty, but he's alive," Festus muttered darkly. "Where in the Sam Hill is Doc? We looked fer 'im over to his office but he ain't there."

She hastily murmured back, "The whole Harmon family's come down with typhus. Their neighbor sent for Doc, and I haven't seen him for a few days now." She swallowed hard and asked in a hushed voice, "Is it bad?"

"He says it ain't, but you know Matthew. He weren't able to ride, and he's lost a lotta blood. Me and Quint, we brought 'im in on a travois. Quint got beat up purty bad, head's bashed and he could hardly ride hisself, but we got 'im back home."

She whispered urgently, "Take me to him."

Festus squatted down beside her chair, looking up at her. "We done got 'im up the back steps to yer room, Miss Kitty. He wouldn't hear of goin' anywheres else since Doc is gone. Quint's upstairs with 'im right now."

Her face blanched. That didn't sound like Matt at all. What had got into him? "Why, how'd you…?" but she stopped herself before she finished the question. She knew the answer.

Festus glanced around, furtively pressed a key into her hand, avoiding her gaze. "You kin give 'im this back when he's a' feelin' a mite better."

Kitty's eyes darted back to her forgotten drinking companion, the whiskey drummer. She spoke more loudly so that the man could hear her above the noise of the saloon's patrons, "I need to go now, Finn. Something's come up."

She rose hastily, and Finn stood as well. He nodded at Festus knowingly, managing to casually remark, "Don't let me keep you, Miss Russell." He hurriedly bowed. "I realize you're a very busy woman."

She grasped Hatcher's forearm, hastily breathing, "Thank you, Finn, for everything."

He watched pensively as she threaded her way through the crowd and then swept up the stairs, the bowlegged hill man in tow.

tbc

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