LAST WORDS

Chapter 10

Wayne Russell

The portly woman at the desk pointed to the room at the end of the hall. Wearing a smile, that appeared neither friendly nor genuine, she stated simply, 'Bed twelve'. Kitty paused at the threshold and stared into the stark, white room. Even on this side of the doorway, the smell of disinfectant couldn't mask the odious stench of death.

The long room was lined with windows and two rows of beds, lined up like white iron sentries, on each side of the room. Each was neatly attired in crisp white sheets. To each wrought iron soldier was issued a wooden, straight back chair and white, metal side table.

Kitty let her gaze come to rest on the bed occupied at the end of the room. Even from here, his emaciated state was obvious. This was not the image she had carried in her memory all these years. Where was the debonair man that had broken her heart? Her feet felt as if they were stuck to the beige tiles that ran along the edge of the hallway.

A large, but gentle hand, rested on her shoulder and she could feel his breath on her cheek when he leaned down. "Honey. You don't have to do this."

Her small, unsteady hand reached up, laying atop his for reassurance. "No, I need to do it. Will you go in with me?"

Matt kissed her temple, while his hand slipped from her shoulder, to slide around her waist. "I'll be right at your side."

Together they walked past the procession of windows. Despite the sun's valiant efforts, neither noticed its brilliance, nor felt its warmth. Kitty stood motionless, staring at the sleeping man. Sensing an audience, his eyes opened, blinking rapidly, in an effort to bring into focus the lady at his bedside.

A wide smile appeared, then relaxed into a comfortable countenance. "Kitty. You came." He struggled to sit up, but his arms had surrendered their strength months ago. Before Kitty could give him any assistance, Matt stepped in and carefully pulled the man up.

"Oh! You came too." Wayne leaned into the man's arms, while his daughter puffed up the pillows at his back. "I hope you haven't come to fulfill your threat."

Matt reached for the wooden chair and pulled it up for his wife, before taking his stand behind her. "That depends on you, Russell."

The dying man chuckled. "I had that coming. I will try not to anger you, Marshal." He turned his attention back to his daughter. "I know you wouldn't bring the children, but do you have pictures?"

Wayne watched the hesitation on his daughter's face and witnessed the questioning glance that passed between husband and wife. "It's okay," he amended. "Maybe before you leave…you will show them to me." Russell gasped when the pain commanded his attention. The pale face twisted in agony and a handful of long, bony fingers gripped the thin blanket.

"I'll get a nurse."

"NO!" Russell reached out to stop Kitty from rising. "NO," he repeated in a slower breath. "It will pass. I'm sorry."

"You can't help it." Kitty pitied the man, even if she didn't love him.

Russell let his body rest after the attack. "I meant, I'm sorry for – well for everything." His words came slow, as if clinging to each breath. "How much do you remember about your mother?"

Kitty was taken aback by his question. "I was very young and…and she was sick…and…" She stopped stumbling for an answer and relied instead on a simple response. "Not much, I guess."

The dying man closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "She was beautiful." A long sigh followed his words, before he looked at his daughter. "You really do look like her." One rawboned finger pointed to the metal table beside his bed. "In that little drawer is all my worldly possessions." Russell's smile returned at the irony of his total wealth, after a lifetime of swindling and con games. "There is a picture of your mother in my wallet. Will you get it?"

Words were unnecessary when Kitty looked up at her husband. Matt smiled and walked to the table, retrieving the wallet. When he offered it to its owner, Russell shook his head and feebly waved the marshal hands away. "I'm too weak and too slow. It's in the inside pocket." Matt pulled out the tattered photo and placed it in the old man's trembling fingers. The image of the young woman brought a smile to his face, as he handed it off to his daughter.

Kitty felt Matt's hands tenderly bracing her shoulders, as he shared a look at the late Emily Jane Russell. Tears sprang to Kitty's eyes as she lovingly traced the tips of her fingers across the faded image.

"She was beautiful." Matt confirmed, gently squeezing his wife's shoulders. "Just like her daughter."

"She deserved better," Russell confessed. "You both did; I just didn't have it to give. The truth is, if I were cured tomorrow, I would be right back in the same lifestyle—cheating and lying my way across the country."

He saw the hurt appear in Kitty's eyes and the anger flash in the marshal's. "But that's not going to happen now and I find myself in a place where only the truth exists."

"Why did you ask me here?" Kitty was a little stunned by his honesty.

"I have no expectation that apologizing will either be believed, or fully accepted; but I wanted to give you something." Wayne saw Matt's eyes narrow dangerously. This man was clearly devoted to his wife, a concept that the dying man had never enjoyed or understood. He quickly went on to explain. "It's nothing of monetary value. I just wanted to tell you about your mother. I'm sure that what you remember is a lot of sadness, but at one time, Emmy was-" Russell paused again, recalling those happy days from long ago. "…Vibrant ...Beautiful …Smart."

"She was sweet, but she had a wicked side! Emmy loved to dance…and laugh. Your mother was a soft touch for every sad story that came along… Especially mine." He confessed sadly. "But if you fired up that redheaded temper, there would be hell to pay." His voice became softer, more serious. "Mostly, Kitty, she was devoted—to me and to you."

A single tear had managed to escape and rolled all alone down Kitty's cheek. "Why did you leave us?"

Another pain—this one worse than the last—seized his bedridden frame. At last, he was able to take a peaceful breath, although the pain remained in his eyes. "Don't feel bad. I'm not getting nearly what is due to me. My answer to your question is a very poor one, but I promised I would be honest if you would come." Tired eyes fell upon the glass pitcher at his bedside. "I need a drink, if you will help me."

Again, Matt was the one to step around to the table and pour a glass of water. He handed it to Kitty and she helped the old man take a drink.

"Thank you." He licked his thin, dried lips and settled back against the crisp, white pillow. "Cards had been working against me. We were broke and about to be evicted. You were about five months old and were cutting teeth. You were a beautiful baby, Kitty, but I was never cut out for family life. One night—or should I say, early one morning—I came home and you were crying. I mean really crying. Emmy had been up with you all night. She was bawling too, and exhausted. The gorgeous woman I married was gone and I...was…trapped." His gaze fell, settling on the hands folded on his chest. Hands that once were deft and well manicured, now were nothing but feeble lumps of skin and bone.

"So... you just left?" Tears lingered in her voice, but there was no judgment in her tone.

"That was pretty much the size of it." Wayne didn't have the strength, or the desire, to feign any sort of regret.

A steady breath preceded her words. "Thank you for being honest." Kitty looked down at the photo. "I would like to hear more about my mother… if you feel up to it."

TBC