Twelve

All about him seemed dark and strange. As a small child looks to a crack in the bedroom door, trying to find light in the dead of night, so Matt Dillon viewed his world. He knew, without understanding he was connected to this red haired woman. A need, strong but indefinable made him yearn for her presence, when she wasn't with him. There was more too, he was compelled by an innate sense of duty to shield her from harm. These feelings were fluid, sometimes near the surface, sometimes buried deep, but always in him. Elusive emotions, he could not classify, nor did he have the faculties to attempt to dissect them. He had learned however, in the small time he'd been with her that she was the light, which could illuminate his darkest night.

GS GS GS GS GS

They all worked in the kitchen together, making supper that night. Matt snapped green beans, a simple task, which served as a form of therapy, helping him regain some of his lost dexterity and mobility to hand and finger function. He was slow at the task, and some of the beans had ended up on the floor, waiting to be scooped up later.

Kitty rolled out pastry dough, laid it in a pie pan and fluted the edges using thumb and forefinger to form a fancy scallop. Then she filled the pie shell with fragrant slices of cinnamon and sugared apples. As she did, she made sure to remind Matt of the picture in the alphabet book. "'A' is for Apple." He made an attempt to say the word, and she rewarded him with a piece of the succulent fruit.

Lilly peeled and diced potatoes before sliding them into a boiling pot of water. It was a pleasant time with each occupant of the room at peace with the others and themselves. The ten-day girl had cleaned upwell. While she would never be a pretty woman, soap, water and decent clothing made a big difference in her appearance. Kitty caught her looking at her likeness in the mirror over the dry sink. Their eyes met in the reflection. Lilly smiled. "I'm a beholdin' to you Missy for gettin' me these fancy duds, and letting me warsh-up. It weren't that I favored being all grungy-like … you know."

"You look mighty fine, and it's I who is thanking you. I don't know what we would have done, had you not appeared at our door."

For the first time since they'd come to the cottage, dinner went well, Matt was on his best behavior, doing everything within his abilities to please her. He used his fork with some degree of correctness and even remembered to tuck his napkin into his shirt. He drank his coffee after giving it several obligatory cooling blows, and it was he who reminded her the liquid was "Hot."

With his new house slippers on his feet, they walked to the river's edge and sat again by the birch trees to watch the quiet lapping of the water. She held his hand wishing for his strength of heart and mind to return, he held hers thankful for the security her small fingers offered. It was a comfort to talk to him, even if he couldn't respond in kind. "When I was a girl, I'd go down to the river, Mississippi River it was … and watch the riverboats come in and the barges go out and think of all the exotic and exciting places they'd been or were going to … and I'd think someday, some far off someday, I will go to those exotic and exciting places too." She sighed and held tighter to his hand.

"Somm … da." He replied.

She looked at him not sure if he were mimicking her words, as a parrot copies speech, or if he comprehended the meaning behind them. She smiled at him, "Yes, someday. I used to spend a lot of time thinking about someday. I guess, it should be a life lesson learned, that someday is now, and it is what we have been blessed with at this time and place that we need to appreciate, and not waste our time daydreaming about a future that might never be." His grip on her hand tightened, she felt a charge of energy pass from his to hers, "Sommda." He repeated and again, much clearer now, "Sommeday." Her heart beat a little faster for in the saying of the words and the connection of the touch, she felt the dream come alive again.

Dusk fell and they returned to the cottage. The kitchen had been tidied and Lilly had fallen asleep on her cot no doubt enjoying therare luxury of clean bed linens and soft down ticking. Seeing the girl asleep, Kitty put her fingers to her lips and `whispered "Shhhh." He followed her suite and did the same. She smiled back at him, for there was something endearing at his childlike efforts to please her.

She lit the lamp in the washroom and helped him to make preparations for bed. Then led him to his room. Mindful of the nightmare, which had taken place the evening before; she wondered if she should perhaps dose him with one of Lilly's pills to preempt a recurrence. However, she hated the thought of the pills and what they did to him and decided she would try at all costs to keep him calm without the use of the drug. Thinking the fairy tales might prove a better image for bedtime, she brought one of the newly purchased picture books with her to the room. "Sit." He invited and she did.

"Shall I read?" she asked.

"Sit … rheee d." He answered, as a ghost of his sweet smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

For a while he listened to the pretty words falling in melodic phrases, the calming effects making his eyes grow heavy, but suddenly he seemed to fight sleep, he raised his body to an elbow and reached for the musty old volume of poetry she'd read from the past two evenings before. "rhee d." He grunted.

"You never were much for fairy tales, Matthew Dillon." Without thinking, she'd said his name, his full name, taking a sharp detour from the dossier Mr. Wilcox had ordered her to follow.

His brow furrowed and he closed his eyes tight for a moment, as if stabbed by a fierce pain. Alarmed, she grabbed his forearms with her hands. His lips trembled as he forced out his name, "Dillll onnn."

Not sure if she should allow him to continue, and knowing she couldn't turn him back, she simply affirmed, "Matthew Dillon … Matt Dillon …that's your name.

Lights danced in his head, pinpricks like in an arm or leg waking from sleep, poked at his memory, "Matt Dillon." He said and this time his enunciation was perfect.