Dark Reflection
Chapter 31
"Presumptions"
by Lilyjack
A couple of good friends asked for another chapter this evenin', so here it is. Stay home if you can, and stay safe, Gunsmokers.
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Charlie Fitz poured a fresh cup of hot coffee for Chester who sat companionably at the kitchen table of Mr. Botkin's home. The room was in the rear of the house, well out of view of the main street, but still they kept the curtains drawn as a safety precaution. Chester certainly didn't wish to be spotted in the house where Miss Kitty and Mister Dillon were. And he always made sure to enter the home via the underground tunnel system in order to keep the suspicions of Blackthorne's men safely at bay. Chester would have never forgiven himself if he gave away their hiding place.
"There you go, Mr. Goode." Charlie poured himself a cup, too, and sat down opposite Chester. "You can enjoy that while we wait for my dear cousin. She shouldn't be too much longer—when I left her, she needed only to finish up a wee bit of business with a boarder before she was free to leave."
"I just wanna thank ya, Charlie, fer askin' yer cousin to come help with Miss Kitty's, uh…" Chester turned a little pink and lowered his voice somewhat. "…Miss Kitty's bath. She still don't feel s'good, and Doc says she'll prob'ly need a little, you know…uh, assistance."
"No problem a'tall, Mr. Goode. No problem a'tall." Charlie Fitz quickly dipped his head for a sip of coffee, all the while hoping against hope that his dear cousin Deirdre would remember her strict church upbringing and mind her manners when she arrived. Actually, the strict upbringing might be part and parcel of the problem, he surmised. Deirdre was, overall, quite an upstanding and likeable woman. But Charlie realized that the folk whose lifestyles not condoned by the church tended to be looked down upon by its parishioners at times. Charlie felt this to be a great misfortune, for did the Messiah himself not entreat us to love our neighbors? Even if you yourself did not particularly approve of their choice of occupation?
"You wish me to do what?" Deirdre had inquired with astonishment a bit earlier in the evening. "Charles Fitz, you know I don't think it's one bit proper having that…" His cousin had lowered her voice and employed a rather scandalized tone. "…that… Why, she's a saloon woman, Charles. It's simply not proper having her under Mr. Botkin's roof."
"Mr. Botkin doesn't seem to mind."
"Oh, Charles, he's a man, for heaven's sake."
"Well, what's that got to do with it?" Charlie had taken his cousin's hand, looked squarely into her eyes and gentled his voice. "Deirdre, Mr. Botkin knew she had no place to go. No one to come to her aid. And the same devil who was responsible for Mr. Botkin's own injuries caused hers as well. My dear cousin, surely you realize what dire straits Miss Russell was in. And she's still quite ill. Can't you find it in your heart to come and help? Just this once?"
Deirdre had huffed out a small, exasperated breath. Charles knew she could not refuse. But still…it was very dangerous getting mixed up in this business. She would have to be careful not to be seen. "I will only enter the house through the underground tunnels, Charles."
"How is that any different than usual, cousin? Oh, don't give me that scathing look. But, Deirdre, I assure you I am indeed quite indebted to you."
"You most certainly should be, Charles. I have some business to finish before I can come. Someone is moving in tomorrow. They will be here shortly to pay for the room."
"That is perfect, Deirdre. We can have warm water all heated and ready for you to help her with a brief sponge bath. Doctor Adams does not wish Miss Russell to contract a chill in her weakened state."
"I just bet he doesn't."
And so Charlie Fitz sat sipping his coffee, trying to listen to Chester chatting on while Charlie's own mind kept returning to the delicate conversation with his cousin. Charlie thought ruefully he'd never quite understand the inner workings of the fairer sex which was, of course, one of the many reasons he hadn't married.
And with that thought, Charlie detected muffled footsteps coming up the cellar steps. He and Chester sat up straighter when they heard a small knock from beneath the trapdoor in the kitchen floor. Hastily rising from the table, they stooped to haul aside the heavy rug used to hide the opening. Deirdre had arrived.
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"Charles, there's a half-naked man in the room with her!" Deirdre hissed to her cousin as they huddled in the corner of the kitchen, out of earshot of Chester.
"Naked man?" Charlie repeated in confusion.
"The wine cellar door is open, and I could see her lying in bed, watching a half-naked man shaving. Why, I never in all my born days…"
"Ohh…" Charlie gave a nervous little chuckle of relief. "It's Mr. Dillon you're talkin' about. When I took hot water down for Miss Russell's bath, Mr. Dillon requested just a wee bit for himself so as he could shave, don't ya' see? The man was startin' to resemble a shaggy buffalo."
"Oh, Charles…"
"I hung a sheet between the two of them…"
"A sheet!"
"Deirdre…" Charlie sighed, then took her hand again and entreated soberly, "We must hide the two of them downstairs. Together." He gestured around him. "We've got no other place to put them! You know that blackguard sheriff thinks Dillon is dead—we've got to keep him out of sight. Miss Russell was shut away by Blackthorne and hovering at death's door until Mr. Dillon and his friends saved her. Surely you understand."
"Hmphf!" She crossed her arms and skewered her cousin with an unflinching gaze. "Well, I'm not going down there again until he's decent."
"Alright, Deirdre, fair enough. We'll wait a bit so he has a chance to get spruced up. Then I'll go down with you."
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Kitty slowly wakened to faint noises from the other side of the room—water splashing and a slightly rhythmic scraping sound. Opening her eyes, she rolled on her side in that direction. The lamp had been turned low so she could sleep, but Kitty could still make out in the small gap between the hanging sheet and the wall the figure of Matt Dillon. He was leaning close to a small mirror propped on some wine bottles, squinting and contorting his face while carefully scraping a straight razor over his jaw. She could see that he was nearly finished with the job. Dillon was stripped to the waist, his union suit hanging loose over the waistline of his pants, and from the dampness of his skin, she could tell he'd washed up right before shaving. His hair was damp as well—it fell in heavy, dark curls over his forehead.
The eyepatch was gone, but he still kept that eye shut as he worked, and she could tell that it was swollen as if from a blow. Had it really been him she'd seen in her room fighting with that scum Linwood Chaney? Had Dillon truly been trying to free her, just as Phoebe claimed? Kitty hadn't asked Chester about it for fear the whole incident had been a crazy, drug-induced hallucination.
Suddenly her eyes detected the bruises and abrasions on his body. There were so many of them. Faded, but she could see how badly he'd been injured. What exactly had happened to this man?
Just then a lantern light approached the doorway by way of the hall, hesitated for only a second, blinding Kitty with its brilliance, then continued up the cellar stairs. Who was that? One of the boys? Finally, she heard a knock on the trapdoor and quiet voices. She relaxed a bit. Evidently someone Charlie Fitz was expecting. Nothing to worry about. Kitty sighed and rolled to her back.
"You awake?" A masculine voice from across the little room.
"Yes," she answered quietly, hoping he hadn't caught her watching him.
"Just washin' up a little. I'm almost done. I'll go stick my head up and tell Charlie you're awake. He's keeping some water warm on the stove for you. I used the first batch he brought down…cause you were still sleepin'."
"No hurry."
He came around the end of the sheet, buttoning his shirt, his shirttail hanging out. "Charlie's got a woman, a cousin, who's coming over to help you."
Kitty's thoughts returned to the lantern that passed by the doorway and headed up the stairs. "We can trust her?"
Dillon bit his lip thoughtfully for a moment. "I trust Charlie. He's laying his life on the line helping us both out. I reckon if he trusts his cousin, then we can, too."
"It's been tough. Relying on other people. Trusting other people. I'm not quite used to that idea. I've always taken care of myself."
"You're a strong woman, Kitty. But sometimes you hafta lean on others." Matt straightened his collar. "This has all been pretty new for me, too."
"I'll bet."
"I'll, uh…" He ran his fingers through his thick hair, trying to tame it, then tied the patch over his swollen eye again. "I'll close the door and wait outside while you get cleaned up." He picked up the small lantern on his side of the curtain. "Okay?"
"Thank you…Matt."
"It's my pleasure."
Kitty watched him close the door and listened as the man's big, booted feet traveled up the stairs to signal Charlie.
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Deirdre knocked on the wine cellar door. She'd been taken aback earlier when forced to walk around that Dillon fellow in the stairwell. My, but he was a big one. Mighty swarthy-looking too with that eyepatch. He could pass for a pirate, she thought to herself. Fitting that he was sharing a room with a common…
"Yes?" A thready, hoarse voice called out from inside the room.
Deirdre steeled herself and opened the door. The lantern she held in her hand brightened the little room considerably so she was able to make out the woman in the bed more clearly. Woman, she thought…land sakes, she looked more like a girl. She'd heard tell of Kitty Russell in whispers round town. A female running a saloon, for heaven's sake, was common fodder for gossip, of course. Deirdre had even spotted Russell in Dodge a few times herself—it was hard to miss that blazing red hair. But as any decent woman would do, Deirdre had always crossed the street to avoid her.
But lying in the bed before Deirdre now was no shameless harlot. The figure resting tiredly on the small cot looked like an underweight girl really, swallowed up in a man's huge nightshirt, skin pale, eyes gaunt, long hair tangled. Deirdre could see that she trembled a bit. Good heavens, what had happened to her?
Dark-circled eyes squinted toward Deirdre, and a look of recognition crossed the wan face. "I know you," she murmured in surprise. "You're Ma Smalley."
Deirdre was taken aback, and it took her a moment to find her tongue. "Yes, my dear. My…my name is Deirdre Smalley, and my cousin Charles has asked me to come help you bathe."
"Charles? Oh, you mean Charlie Fitz." The girl's blue eyes were luminescent and appeared too large for her thin face. "Your cousin has been very good to me, Mrs…"
"You can call me Ma Smalley. Most everyone else does." Deirdre stood hesitantly. "Charles left us a nice bucket of hot water right outside the door there. And I've got some clean towels, soap and things. I , uh…I see you've got a washbasin we can use on the table. I'll just fetch the bucket and we'll get started."
"I don't know how to thank you, Ma. Doctor Adams says I was in a bad way there for a while." The girl's hand shook as she pulled back the covers. "And I'm still not quite up to snuff."
"Yes, yes, I can see that. I imagine you'll feel some better after a nice bath. Let's set the basin here. Do you think you can manage to sit in this chair?"
"I think I can."
"Oh wait, let me help you."
"I just feel a little dizzy. It should pass after I sit down."
"Hold my arm now. Just a few steps."
"Thank you, Ma."
"Okay, let me help you get this nightshirt off. You know, I'm going to ask Charles to run to my house and fetch one of my nightgowns for you to wear after your bath. It'll fit you much more nicely than this thing."
"Oh, you don't have to…"
"No, I insist. It's no bother. We need to wash this one anyway. Can you raise your arms? There, now let's… Oh my…" Deirdre realized she was staring and finally found her voice. "Someone…really hurt you, didn't they?"
"Oh, I'll be alright. Bruises heal." Miss Russell attempted to sound flippant, but Deirdre could hear the catch in her voice.
"Oh dear, what they've done to you…" Deirdre reached tentative fingers to touch Kitty's chin, gently turn her head to see the bruises on her neck, noted the slowly-fading marks on her face. Small freckles stood out against her bloodless complexion; blue veins contrasted against milk-white skin.
The girl sat silently, uncertainly.
Deirdre's stricken eyes quickly took in the ugly telltale discolorations over Kitty Russell's entire body. The older woman swallowed and faintly offered, "I'm so sorry, my dear…I didn't realize."
Kitty's eyes remained downcast. She shivered.
Then Deirdre picked up a blanket, gently wrapping it around Kitty. The older woman continued, "You need a proper bath, dear, not just a quick sponge. Yes, Charles told me what Doc Adams said, but we'll be quick about it. I know you'd like to get good and clean now, wouldn't you?"
Kitty waited a beat, then mutely nodded her head.
"Men, they just don't understand, do they?"
The sick girl shook her head wordlessly again, and the luminous eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
"Well, that settles it then. Let me run upstairs quick as a wink and ask my cousin Mr. Fitz to fetch the small tub. It's not very comfortable, but it's serviceable, my dear."
The girl spoke at last, and her voice was thick with emotion. "I'd sure like that, Ma."
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Deirdre dropped the damp towel on the table and pulled her own white cotton nightgown over Kitty's head. She picked up the brush she'd finagled out of Charles and tried smoothing Kitty's tangled locks as best she could under the circumstances. "We can wash it later. I don't believe it would be wise for you to have wet hair right now. When Doctor Adams says it's alright, we can do an egg shampoo with a rosewater rinse. Your hair is really lovely so I imagine you don't ever use soap in it, do you?"
"No, Ma, I don't." Kitty sighed as the brush stroked her scalp soothingly. She looked up at Deirdre and remarked, "You know, I send business your way whenever I can."
Deirdre hesitated only a moment, unsure of where this conversation was going. "Oh?" was her noncommittal reply.
"Yeah, when thirsty travelers come through my place, lookin' for somewhere to stay, I always try to send 'em your way." Her blue eyes cut up at Deirdre. "I've always admired you, a woman ownin' your own place. You made me believe that…that maybe I could do the same thing. Own my own business. So I worked real hard and saved my money. Now I own half the Long Branch." Her brow furrowed. "Or I did. Things are kinda up in the air right now, you might say."
Deirdre was uncertain how to reply. "I see," was all she could come up with.
"Did it take you long to save up for your place?"
"Well, no. I mean, it was left to me by my late husband, Mr. Smalley. Thankfully, I didn't have to save up. I can't imagine…how long…it would have taken."
"It took a lotta hard work. But you're no stranger to hard work yourself, runnin' that boardin' house all by yourself."
"Very true. Women have to work doubly hard to make it in this man's world."
"Ain't it the truth." Kitty ran her fingers gratefully through the hair Ma had thus far managed to unsnarl. She asked, "Do you come here often?"
Deirdre froze. "Here?"
"Yeah, to Mr. Botkin's place."
"Whatever do you…?"
"Well, I just noticed that you know your way around this room pretty well. Earlier you walked straight to the broom hidden over in that dark corner, and you knew there were more towels inside that little cabinet over there. You also knew this tub was upstairs." She hesitated only a fraction of a second. "Are you and Mr. Botkin friends?"
Deirdre suddenly remembered to keep brushing. Then she thought to close her mouth which had hung open for several moments as this intuitive young woman spoke. She delicately cleared her throat. "Why…why, yes. As a….a matter of fact, we are friends."
"Do you enjoy wine? Mr. Botkin sure has quite a collection. I had no idea."
"Well…" Deirdre was hesitant about what she should divulge. Both she and Mr. Botkin enjoyed their privacy. Not even his daughter Tildy Mae was aware of their close friendship. Mr. Botkin had sent Tildy away to an exclusive boarding school back East when her mother, the late Mrs. Botkin, had passed. Mr. Botkin had taken his wife's loss quite hard. Not long after her death is when Deirdre had taken him a funeral cake and some of her prize-winning peach preserves. They had struck up a friendship, initially bonding over the mutual loss of their spouses. "Well…yes, actually, I do enjoy a glass of wine now and then, but don't tell the parson." Deirdre blushed but added in a hushed voice, "Mr. Botkin is quite the connoisseur. Do you indulge in…uh…wine?" She had always assumed that a saloon owner spent days guzzling beer from barrels and swigging rotgut whiskey fresh from outlying stills, so she felt conspicuous asking about Kitty's taste in alcohol.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do, but, unfortunately, there's not much call for it at my place. What I really love…" She cut her eyes up at Deirdre. "…is brandy. Or cognac when I can afford it."
"Oh my, you do have expensive tastes. You know, I happen to know of a certain bottle hidden away up in the… Oh, but I think maybe we should save that thought for another time, don't you? You look exhausted, my dear."
"You can call me 'Kitty'," the younger woman smiled, and Deirdre received a brief glimpse of the striking beauty Kitty was when she was feeling well. Kitty added, "That's what everybody calls me."
"Alright…Kitty. I'm going to braid your hair so it doesn't get so tangled again, and tie it up with this bit of ribbon I asked Mr. Fitz to retrieve from my vanity table. I dare say my cousin will think twice before he asks any favors of me again—I've kept him hopping!" Deirdre gave a small chuckle, but she quickly sobered when she saw the look on her companion's face.
"I can't thank you enough, Ma."
"I'm very happy that I could be of service to you, young lady." Deirdre smiled shyly. "Now, let's walk…slowly now…back to the bed and get you tucked in. I'm glad I thought to ask my cousin for nice clean sheets for your bed. Oh, and Mr. Dillon told me that after your bath, you'd just about be due for one of those little white pills over there and would I please give it to you."
Kitty settled back on the pillows and softly smiled. "He's my nurse."
Deirdre chuckled once again, and she thought how strange it was to be sitting here laughing with a woman she'd thought she would detest. "Your nurse…A remarkable thing, really, having a man like him – he's very good-looking, isn't he? …looking after you like that."
"Yeah, that's what I thought, too… I can't quite figure him out."
"Why, my dear, I'd say he cared for you very much."
Kitty opened her mouth to reply, her brows knitting together in thought. But she said nothing.
"Close your eyes and rest now, Kitty, and perhaps I'll see you again soon."
Kitty shifted, sighing at the comfort of the cool, clean, smooth sheets. Her eyes drifted shut, and she murmured sleepily, "I'm truly…obliged to you for…" And she was asleep before she could finish her sentence.
tbc
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