A Change in Plans
An ATC for "The Foundling"
by Lilyjack
Dear Gunsmoke Friends, I'm happy to say AT&T has restored my internet in an astoundingly short amount of time considering the scope of the explosion in Nashville. Not just TN was affected. I live 3 hours away and it took my service down as well.
One more thing that I believe might help frustrated readers who wish to read the entire story at once is a little bit of information about the process. It is a tremendous amount of work authoring a story of this length. Each chapter has been revised and edited countless times, by me and by a beta reader (this time it was my Plotting Partner AZgirl66.) Regardless, I still read and edit, one last time, each and every chapter before posting to catch any errors that may have slipped past me or to change character dialogue that doesn't sound quite "right."
Each chapter must be uploaded individually to the fanfic website which is extremely time-consuming when the story is 45 chapters and each one is a separate Word document. For the past two days I could only upload when I went to my parents' home to borrow their wifi. Add to that the fact that I work two "real life" paying jobs most days plus I have seven rescue pets and a daughter to care for, and you can see that my days are pretty full.
So, long story short, I will give you the advice I have given to many readers over the years and which I myself follow when there's a lengthy, exciting story I wish to read: Don't begin reading the fic until it is marked "Complete." That will solve all your problems. There are many wonderfully written fics on this site that are, unfortunately, not complete, and friends have been bitterly disappointed when they read the story only to be left hanging at the end. This is why I tell my friends and readers: Always check for the "Complete" status before reading to avoid frustration.
I absolutely love reading daily reviews as I post. They make my whole day. But I completely understand (and empathize) if you wish to wait to read until I get all 45 documents uploaded to the site. That's the best thing to do if you can't stand the wait between chapter posts. This story has many twists and turns, and it won't be like any fic you've read here before, so ride the roller-coaster along with us, chapter by chapter, or wait until you can inhale the story in one setting, whichever is your pleasure.
Now that my internet is restored, I will try and get three chapters up some days. Four wouldn't be out of the question in the next couple of days while my schedule is not so full. Thank you again, Dear Readers, for your enthusiasm and support. ~lj
Chapter 11
"Sustenance"
"Delicious," Kitty pronounced somewhat inarticulately through a mouthful of savory beef stew. Quint had cooked it up on his kitchen stovetop with fresh chuck they'd picked up at the neighborhood butcher shop along with potatoes, carrots, peas, and onions from the corner grocer. When they'd gotten back home, he'd tried to persuade Kitty to lie down and take a nap while he prepared supper, but she insisted on baking buttermilk biscuits to go with the creamery butter they'd purchased, along with flour, lard, baking powder, salt and pepper, and buttermilk. Plus sweet milk. Quint said the baby needed lots of milk, and Kitty just shot him a crooked smile, placing the bottles in the icebox to keep them from spoiling.
"I can set up delivery every morning," Quint remarked. "Milk, butter, cream, eggs… All brought right to our door each day. There are some advantages to livin' in the city."
"Ain't that the truth," Kitty agreed, rubbing at her itchy nose with the back of a floury hand. She cut out her fluffy biscuit dough with an empty tin can she'd found in the cupboard. Apparently, Mr. Buckles liked to bake the occasional biscuit as well. Kitty wondered about the old man, what he was like, the pastimes he enjoyed, whom he had loved. The little house was full of his things, and it made Kitty happy to live in his charming home, but strangely melancholy at the same time.
The wood stove had made the whole downstairs hot as blazes, so she and Quint had loaded their simple, home-cooked feast onto a tray and carried it out to the backyard. Sitting under the shade trees was a picture perfect little wooden gazebo matching the house in color and style, blue with white trim and a conical roof shingled with slate. It housed a wrought iron latticework table and chairs painted white where they ate their picnic with undisguised relish.
Kitty dabbed the corner of her mouth with her white cotton napkin and sat back with a hand resting on her belly, sighing. "I feel better," she declared. Quint was helping himself to one last biscuit. With his mouth full and his eyes dancing, he gave her a tight-lipped, wry smile. Swallowing, he agreed thickly, "Me too."
"I'm glad we can both cook," she asserted, dropping her napkin onto the table. "Well, you can cook. I dabble. But it sure makes things easier."
"We make a good team in the kitchen." Smiling, he broke off another piece of biscuit, slathering it with butter, then popped it into his mouth.
"So…have you given any more thought to my idea?" she inquired. "It's true you already own an established business, but I think you could easily expand into something even more profitable with that land at the back of your property."
"I admit, I worry," frowned Quint. "The future of blacksmithing isn't lookin' so great. Factories nowadays are crankin' out shoddy metal tools and household goods much faster than a master blacksmith could ever produce. People like me can't compete with assembly lines."
"You get what you pay for," Kitty countered, the corners of her mouth turning down. "Shoddy merchandise doesn't last long."
"I know that, and you know that." Quint pointed at her. "But customers are bein' lured away by the cheaper prices."
"This street would be an ideal location to board horses and hire out buggies and carriages," she iterated.
He revealed, "A lot of smiths have actually started branching out into transportation, the farrier business." He brushed the biscuit crumbs from his hands and sat back in his chair. "It's a natural progression. We already make custom horseshoes, wheels…we repair buggies…"
She pursed her lips thoughtfully and pronounced, "I think you could make a success of it."
"You think so?"
"Sure, I do, Quint."
He shook his head a little. "I don't think I'm quite as savvy at business dealings as you are."
"I can help."
His voice rose a notch. "You'd do that?"
"I'd be happy to. It's the least I can do. Why, you've been such a…" Kitty stopped, midsentence. Her hand drifted to her abdomen.
Quint was instantly alert. "What's the matter?"
She looked at him, motionless but wide-eyed.
He began to rise. "Are you okay?"
Kitty whispered, "I can feel the baby."
"He's movin', like the doctor said?"
"Yes!" she replied, her hand sliding across her swollen abdomen. She quickly murmured, "Come 'ere," reaching for his hand.
He kneeled before her, and she placed his hand on the side of her protruding belly just so. Quint held his breath and they waited. Then he felt it, a tiny kick from beneath the folds of Kitty's dress. Quint's jaw dropped in astonishment. "I felt it!"
Kitty nodded at him, her eyes shining. "Maybe the baby likes your cookin'," she quipped, cocking an eyebrow at him playfully.
His big hand splaying across her belly, he laughed silently, then whispered, "I don't know about that. Maybe he's a biscuit eater."
"Maybe it's ashe…" she added wonderingly.
"Maybe so…"
"Did you ever feel your baby kick, Quint?" Kitty suddenly asked very earnestly, meeting his dark gaze.
"No…" Quint answered, and his eyes drifted a little out of focus again like they did every time he spoke of his past life with his wife in Indian Territory. "Bella didn't make it quite this far."
"I'm real sorry, Quint." Kitty placed her hand atop his. "I think you would've made a wonderful father."
He looked down. "Thanks, Kitty." His hand caressed her belly, just a little, before he caught himself. He slowly drew back.
"No, I wanna thank you, Quint, for bein' here for me. I can't tell you enough what it means to me."
His eyes met hers again, but steadily this time. "That's what friends are for." He cleared his throat, rose to his feet and airily announced, "I'm gonna clean up these dishes while you go rest for a while."
"But, Quint…"
"No arguments, Mrs. Asper," he grinned. "I aim to see that you recuperate so that you can deliver this baby safely. No more gettin' sick on my watch. Come on, I'll walk you upstairs."
ljljljljlj
Her belly full of stew, Kitty lay back against several pillows with a weary sigh atop the quilt-covered bed. She was bone-tired, so worn out that her body ached, making it difficult to fall asleep. Her mind was also racing with the potential of Quint's new business owing to the prime location of the spacious property. There was plenty of room for Quint to build a livery and offer quality farrier services to his existing customers plus rent out horses, buggies, and carriages to neighborhood residents.
Quint had escorted her to his shop earlier that sunny afternoon. The large, plank-framed building had a high-pitched roof and two big front doors swung open wide to admit customers. There were three glowing hot forges with large bellows and a chimney for each, compared to the single forge Quint had in his old shop back in Dodge City.
Three employees were running the business — one, Grover Coose, was acting as supervisor since their boss Clyde Buckles had passed away several months previously. Promised by Buckles' family they could keep their jobs with steady wages, the men kept the business going until a buyer was found. When Quint purchased the business, he had been more than happy to let the men continue until he could move to St. Louis and start work himself. Dependable, experienced workers, especially craftsmen like smithies, were hard to come by.
The pride and enthusiasm Quint felt were evident as he showed Kitty around. His employees were hard at work, dirty and sweating profusely as they pounded glowing metal with heavy hammers on large anvils, muscles straining, then quenching hot, newly forged implements in buckets of hissing, steaming liquid.
Kitty dabbed her handkerchief to her perspiring neck as Quint introduced her to the men who each wore heavy boots and long leather aprons for protection. They didn't wear gloves because they preferred direct contact with the metal they so carefully worked. Kitty suddenly wondered if Quint had ever burned himself while working with the hot coals and glowing iron, and she inwardly shivered at the thought. Funny she had never given it much thought until now.
The men were polite as they were introduced to Kitty. Quint gestured to a wiry-muscled tall man. "This is Grover Coose, my supervisor…"
"Mr. Coose," Kitty had smiled warmly.
"Just plain Grover, ma'am…" He gave her a shy, gap-toothed smile.
"And these gentlemen are Seamus O'Donnell and Clay Michaels."
"Mrs. Asper…" they replied quietly.
They had all stared at their new boss' wife with her stunning blue eyes and flaming hair, dressed quite stylishly in spite of the fact that she seemed to be in the family way. The workmen were unable to offer more than mumbled words of courtesy at first.
Quint's arm had slipped around her waist so familiarly as he presented her with a happy smile, his eyes sparkling. He seemed to be real pleased to be standing beside her, introducing her as his wife, and a strange feeling came over Kitty right then, thinking, these men don't know who I really am. To them I'm not a saloon woman who used to earn her living as a whore. Everyone back in Dodge had known who she was…what she had done. Kitty didn't mind so much for herself what some people thought of her, but she did mind awfully much for her baby. It was a heady feeling, being free from her past, even if it was just while she was here in St. Louie.
A customer had entered at that moment, a burly, tall man with a bushy red beard and wiry dark brows, a scar near his left eye. Quint excused himself to speak with the man while Kitty discussed business with Grover, Seamus and Clay, inquiring about their duties, what sort of hours they worked and what kind of customers they typically saw in a week's time, what sort of services they provided. Then Quint called Grover over to speak with the customer, and Quint had shaken the red-bearded man's hand as he gestured to Kitty that they would be leaving.
As they walked home, Kitty had talked excitedly with Quint, presenting to him her ideas about the expansion of his already successful business. Quint had listened to her intently, earnestly, as she spoke.
Now she lay in bed, stripped down to her lace-trimmed drawers and sleeveless shift topped by a maternity corset which had loose side laces for her expanding belly while still supporting her growing bosom. She had happily purchased this handy garment during her shopping excursion with Quint, and she'd been relieved to find how much better she had felt simply by wearing well-fitting clothing. Appropriate unmentionables had been high on her priority list when she and Quint had visited Crawford & Co. Dry Goods Palace, and she counted her lucky stars to find this particular specialty item in stock in the maternity department. Back in Dodge, there would have been no such thing, and she would've been forced to special order it from a catalog and wait for many weeks for it to arrive. Luckily, St. Louis was a big city with a wider array of options available to her in stores.
Kitty had kindly spared Quint the embarrassment of browsing through the ladies' unmentionables department. When she'd noticed his face turning a bit pink as they approached the first display of gossamer nightgowns trimmed in satin ribbon and lace, she'd advised him to peruse the gentlemen's overcoat selection and she'd meet him back later at ladies' dresses. He had happily obliged.
Kitty turned onto her side on the soft old quilt, her eyes finally beginning to feel heavy, her aching limbs tingling with exhaustion. She closed her lids against the slanting late afternoon sun while she dreamed up plans for Quint's bright future.
ljljljljlj
Quint sat bolt upright in his bed, the skin on the back of his neck prickling. What had woken him? His eyes strained, peering into the darkness, but he could see nothing, hear nothing, save the sounds through his open window of whirring insects and the distant clopping of horse hooves on the bricked pavement. Then he detected an anguished wail that sent an electric alarm down his spine. Kitty.
He jumped out of bed in his pajama pants and stumbled over a throw rug as he hurried into the hall. Rapping his knuckles at Kitty's door, Quint called her name, but there was no answer. He tried the knob. It turned, so he cracked her door open, squinting inside. Here the room was suffused by pale light glowing through the blinds from the gas street lamps. "Kitty?" he hoarsely whispered.
The only reply was muffled crying from the bed, mumbled demands to "Stop! Don't touch me!" just as she had shouted in the dead of night in the Springfield hotel. They were words that turned his blood to ice water, caused him to wonder what the hell had happened to Kitty to make her say such things in her sleep.
That afternoon, she had never risen from her nap after they'd eaten together under the gazebo in the backyard, and Quint had left her alone, hoping she might sleep through the night. Now he could see she was lying atop the bedcovers in her underthings, tumbled hair escaping its pins, face a mask of pain. Was she hurting? Or was she simply dreaming of a painful experience that contorted her expression so? He strode to the bedside, touching her bare shoulder where her chemise had slipped down her arm.
"Kitty?" he now murmured anxiously, trying to rouse her. "Wake up…you're dreamin' again."
Sucking in a breath, she sat up suddenly, hand clutching at her chest. "Quint?" she gasped. Her expression rapidly shifted – from the horror of her nightmarish visions to relief at her recognition of him, that whatever terrors shook Kitty in her sleep were just phantom memories. Finally, she burst into tears – great, wracking sobs that shook her perspiring body, that shook Quint to his core.
He gently lay his hand upon her soft shoulder again, unsure of what to do. He was a man, naked to the waist, in an unmarried lady's room, and she sat undressed, vulnerable, on her bed. But she quickly solved his dilemma when she reached out for him. He lowered to the mattress facing her as she slid her arms around his neck and wept. Quint embraced her feverish body, rubbing her back while she buried her face on his shoulder. "Shh…honey, don't cry. You're okay now. It was all a dream."
ljljljljlj
After holding Kitty for some time, her sobs gradually slowed, and she took in a deep, shuddering breath. Quint could feel her sheer exhaustion as she lay limply against him. He tightened his arms around her, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest at the same time. "What happened, sweetheart?" he murmured into her tousled hair. "What happened to make you have such terrible nightmares?"
She sniffed loudly and raised up from his shoulder. She had nothing to wipe her eyes with and Quint certainly had nothing to offer, so she settled for an ineffectual swipe with the back of her hand.
Quint wrapped his hand around the side of her neck, one thumb stroking the tears from her hot cheek. "You wanna tell me about it?" he whispered as he ducked his head to gaze pointedly into her liquid eyes.
"Oh, Quint," she strangled out. "I don't know if I can talk about it."
"It might help if you do."
"I…" She stopped and bit her lower lip, her unfocused eyes staring somewhere past his shoulder. She murmured quietly, "Just suffice it to say that bein' the marshal's woman can be mighty dangerous." Her hand drifted to her belly. "So much so that the marshal thinks havin' a family is out of the question."
Quint's hand slid around to the back of Kitty's neck, tangling in her hair. He spoke quietly, contemplatively. "He could possibly change his mind."
Her face crumpled for an instant before she regained control. "I don't think so, Quint. I don't think he'd ever forgive me, for one thing. I don't know that he could ever get over what I did…" She broke off as the breath hitched in her chest.
"That's not the Matt Dillon I know, Kitty. Matt would do anything for you."
She shook her head wordlessly, looking down into her lap where her hands were clasped tightly together.
"Kitty, you're exhausted. And scared. You need time to think this through." Quint placed his finger under her chin. "You need rest so you can decide what to do. And things will look much better in the light of day. Just lie back right now and try to sleep."
She started to shake her head again, but Quint stopped her. "I'll sit here with you for a little while." He tucked her hair behind her ear. "If you want me to, that is."
Her mouth dropped open a little, and she seemed torn. Finally, she quietly replied, "I want you to, Quint."
Rising, he took her hand. "Stand up and let's get you tucked in proper."
He pulled back the covers and she lay back down, the sheets cool and smooth on her damp, fevered skin. "Quint?"
Sitting on the bed facing her, he softly responded, "Uh-huh?"
"I'm sorry I've been such a bother."
"You're not a bother, Kitty." He reached a finger to wipe away another tear that escaped the corner of her eye, trickling toward the pillow. "Don't ever think that. You hear me?"
She nodded, swallowing hard.
"Just close your eyes, and hopefully you'll feel a lot better about things in the mornin'."
tbc
ljljljljlj