AN: Some readers like to know the length of the story in advance. This will be 8 chapters. Unless disaster strikes me, I'll post 1 a day. Sorry, some of the chapters are pretty long. Also, I'm ignoring the fact that Kansas became a dry state in 1881.
Two little girls stepped lightly across the threshold onto the front porch of a tidy, white A-frame house. Kitty hovered behind, carrying two cloth bags that were warm to the touch and smelled sweet and buttery. The taller, dark haired child looked up at Kitty with wide and serious eyes. "Maybe I should carry both bags." Kitty smiled gently, "Amy, you should definitely carry the bigger one, but your little sister can manage the small one." Sandy-haired Cassie looked up with a tooth-gapped grin, "I'll be real careful." Kitty nodded and handed each child a bag. "Now skip on home, no stopping for another nibble. You've had two fresh out of the oven. These are to share with your parents and 2 little brothers. Besides, if it gets late your mother will start worrying, and you know you don't want that." Amy nodded solemnly. Being the oldest of 4 weighed heavy on her 8 year-old shoulders. She took her younger sister's hand and looked up at Kitty."I promise we'll go straight home without stopping even once." Cassie gripped her little bag. "And thank you for letting us help bake cookies." Kitty brushed a trace of flour from Cassie's nose. "Girls, making dozens of cookies is a big job, I'm glad you came to help." Amy tugged her sister's hand, and the two girls skipped away. Kitty watched them disappear into the distance like two bouncing dots. She pushed a stray hair from her eyes, barely noting it was grey. Seeing silvery strands mixed in with her red hair had long ceased to disturb her. She liked the feel of her hair hanging softly to her shoulders regardless of the color, and often wondered how, for so many years, she'd put up with elaborate twists, tight curls and pins sticking into her scalp.
Still peering into the distance, she squinted against afternoon sun. The Maxwell girls were long out of sight, but maybe her man would be early. She chuckled to herself, it was silly to think Matt could get back this quick, he'd be right on time as usual. She'd best go inside and clean up the floury mess she'd made with her two little helpers. She turned to open the door and saw something blue in corner of the porch. Little Cassie's bow must have slipped off her braid. She rescued the pretty blue ribbon and examined it closely. The stitching was meticulous, the cut of the edges fine. It was the work of a loving mother. Of course mothers showed love in different ways. Her own wasn't much for sewing. Crooked hems and loose buttons were common in her childhood. She never minded. Other girls had straight seams and embroidered collars; she had something better. She leaned against the porch door, and closed her eyes. It all flooded back - the thick, patchwork quilt pulled up under her chin, the room bathed in moonlight, her mother's blue eyes twinkling with mystery like a fortune teller's. Mother reached under the bed, into a box of books, and pulled one out with a flourish. With a voice as sweet and rich as honey, she read fables with talking animals, myths with blue headed monsters, tales of faraway places and poetry that touched your heart, even if you didn't know the meaning of some words. Father was never there. On the rare nights he was home, mother's honeyed voice was silent. It was never stated, but understood that if father knew about the books, he'd sell them for gambling money. One of many secrets mother kept from him.
Kitty let out a breath and realized she was squeezing Cassie's bow. Strange, how a simple thing could jog a memory. She went inside and set the bow on a bookshelf. It was time to stop day-dreaming and get to work. She stepped into the kitchen and put her hands on her hips. What a mess. Baking cookies was a chore she didn't much enjoy, but it was for a good cause. The town council was having a bake sale to raise money for the local school. She was happy to contribute cookies, but what she really wanted was a say in how the money was spent. That's why she was running for town council. She was the first woman to run in Eudora, and getting elected was unlikely, but the town of Argonia. Kansas elected a woman mayor, so maybe times were changing.
She wet a rag and wiped spilled flour from the table. Despite the mess that came with two young helpers, those giggly girls were a joy to have around. With no children or grandkids of her own, it was nice being auntie to so many. On Friday, Lucinda Roberts was coming by to learn a fancy hairstyle for her upcoming wedding day. Imagine, and she was only 17. Kitty shook her head. If she had a daughter, she'd advise her to wait a bit before marrying, and take a little time to learn about herself and the world. She picked up a broom with a sigh - of course she wouldn't necessarily advise waiting as long as she had. She was approaching 40 when she and Matt wed. By that age most women had long been hitched and had a parcel of children, or were sworn to spinsterhood. Of course, she was never like most women. At Lucinda's age, getting married was the furthest thing from her mind. She'd seen how her father's wastrel, cheating ways, crushed her mother's heart and spirit. He had rights, he said, as the man of the house, and his careless bullying drove mother to an early grave. So, after her mother's burial she made herself some promises. In fact she wrote them down.
A smile touched Kitty's lips. She set aside her broom, and pushed a chair across the hard wood floor to a tall and narrow cabinet. If she remembered right, a dozen years ago when they moved in, she asked Matt to set her box up on a shelf. Clutching the side of her skirt in one hand, she climbed up on the chair, and stood on tip-toe to reach the highest shelf. She felt the small, oak box and smiled. Gripping it hard, she cautiously stepped down and set it on the table. Heart fluttering, she flipped open the lid. There it was, right on top, yellow with age – her promise paper. Taking care not to tear it, she carefully unfolded the fragile note and read: I, Kitty Russell, do solemnly promise myself that in my life I will make my own decisions, have my own money, and I will never love a man I have to lie to or keep secrets from.
Kitty ran a finger across the words. Here she was in her 50's, and she had to admit she'd kept to those promises. She looked deeper into the box, and her eyes grew moist as she fingered the crooked stitching on her mother's handkerchief. She smiled gently – there was the bill of sales for buying into the Long Branch, and becoming half owner. Under that was her first note from Matt, and the stagecoach ticket that got her to Dodge in the first place. Her smile grew. The minute she laid eyes on that man she knew she'd treasure that ticket. Matt Dillon was one of a kind. Impossibly tall and handsome, his presence commanded respect, but that wasn't what she noticed most on the rainy day she arrived in Dodge. What she noticed were his clear, blue eyes. No one had eyes like that. Eyes that saw right into you, eyes that never lied.
She carefully re-packed the box and set it on a lower shelve. No point in keeping it out of sight. She retrieved her broom, still picturing her early days in Dodge. Nope, Matt's eyes never lied. They told her that he loved her, better than mere words ever could. But, it didn't take long to learn there was a cost to the love they shared. A price they each paid many times, in many ways. Sometimes terrible ways. An image gripped her. She tried to shrug it off but couldn't, and froze mid-sweep. Time had dulled the pain, but even after all these years the thought of Jude Bonner turned her stomach. Jude's brother was sentenced to hang, after Matt arrested him, so Bonner and his Dog Soldiers stormed into Dodge to take revenge. That meant finding her, Matt's woman. She could have hidden herself away, but Bonner would have slaughtered man after man until she came forward. So she stepped right up and looked him in the eye. If she had to do it over, she'd make that choice again despite – despite being beaten, kicked, taunted and abused by disgusting, filthy men. When they tired of having their way with her, Bonner shot her in the back and left her for dead outside the Long Branch. She didn't care, death was a relief. Matt wouldn't let her go.
Kitty slid down into a high-back chair and stared, unseeing, into space. Doc treated her wounds and injuries with the utmost skill and tenderness. Matt was by her side more than seemed humanly possible. Her will to live returned, and her spirit began to blossom. But, she needed a woman's help and Bess, dear Bess, was there for her. Kitty's fingers tingled, she could almost feel Bess Roniger's warm and fleshy hand.
"Bess, there is no better doctor than Doc Adams, but I can't talk to a man about what's wrong, and I don't think there's a cure."
"I'm here honey, what is it?"
"Bess, I'm - I'm scared I'll never want to be touched by a man again, not even Matt. I think Bonner killed that part of me – that part of being a woman."
"Honey, it will take time, but the right feelings will come back. Matt is a good man, he'll wait 'til you're ready."
"But what if I'm never ready? What if I'm always scared?"
"Shush - listen honey, me and Will were clumsy teenagers when we married. I'll just say it took a while for the marital bed to be well – pleasurable. Now, you and Matt went into your relationship much more experienced that me and John, and from little things you told me, I know you've pleasured each other real good." Bess blushed and lowered her voice even though they were alone. "I'm a few years older than you, but you said some things that gave me clues to certain – certain ways." She cleared her throat, "Anyway, seems to me you both know how to pick up on signals from each other. Let those signals work and don't be too worried. Worrying don't help sex none. And remember who Matt is. Look in his eyes and push everything else from your mind. Matt feels as guilty as hell over what happened, and when he rode off after Bonner he had revenge in his heart. In the end he couldn't be a cold blooded killer because Matt – well Matt is Matt, and you Kitty Russell are the woman you are. Jude Bonner isn't strong enough to destroy either of you, or what you have together." Bess brushed a strand of hair from Kitty's face. It was limp and oily. "Just remember how much Matt loves you. Goodness, even a fool can see it in his eyes." Bess stood to leave, "Honey, I think you'll feel better once your hair is clean and brushed."
Kitty smiled at the memory. The next day, she asked Matt to help her wash and brush her hair. Their touching became familiar again, and with time and patience, lovemaking was even better than before, more tender and considerate.
With a deep sigh, Kitty pushed herself to her feet. Speaking of Bess, she owed her a letter. She picked up a bowl, and popped a scrap of dough into her mouth. Yep, she'd get to writing Bess soon. It was amazing how long they'd been friends, even though two women couldn't have led more different lives. Bess married at 18 and had her first child 6 months later. After that she gave birth pretty regular, every year or two. Sometimes it was hard to fathom how she kept up with all the laundry, cooking, cleaning, milking and everything else.
"Honey it was hard the first years, when I had three little ones, but as time goes on the older ones help the younger ones so it's not all on me."
Kitty smiled, of course Bess said that while hanging laundry with one hand, and holding a baby with the other. Fact was, Bess loved her life, despite the endless work and times of sorrow – and sorrow there was. Two of her babies died of measles before turning one, and little David had just turned 5 when he got caught in that animal trap, and died of gangrene, Poor Doc couldn't save him. Dodge City never saw a sadder funeral. Life wasn't always kind to Bess, but 12 of her children grew to adulthood. She had a lot to be proud of.
Kitty popped another scrap of dough into her mouth, and set the bowl aside to wash. It was odd that, while spending so much time with Bess and her kids, she didn't give much thought to her own prospects for motherhood. That changed when Will Stambridge came along and made her realize she wasn't 19 with endless forevers. She was 37, an age at which, if a woman wants a family, she'd better get a move on. Yep, Will made her take a good long look at the choices she'd made.
Kitty glanced around the kitchen. It was mostly back in order. The cookies were in tins and there was plenty of time to start dinner before Matt got home from town. Some quiet time on the porch would be pleasant. She opened a low maplewood cabinet and took out a glass and a bottle of sherry. Years of owning a saloon had left her with a taste for fine liquor, which she indulged now and again. She filled the glass to the brim, and carried it out to the porch without spilling a drop. Some skills never leave you.
Settling into the rocking chair she gave a little laugh - Will Stambridge – she hadn't thought of him in years. If she remembered correctly, he had an unlikely look for a gunslinger in that three piece suit of his. He sure was charming and attentive, and made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world, just when she needed it. Things moved unnervingly fast with that man and before she knew it, he wanted to get married. Life dumped a choice right in her lap. Marriage, home and family, before she was a minute older, with a man she'd grown to care about, in exchange for leaving Matt. "Matt" – she whispered his name aloud. The man whose every touch was somehow thrilling yet familiar. He'd seen her at her best and worst, and loved her to her core. He knew her deepest secrets, and trusted her with his. They could make each other smile with one word, and give comfort with one look. A hundred times a day she thought of things she had to tell him, because he'd understand – get the joke – know the meaning. A love like that lights up your life, and life without it, no matter how pleasant or comfortable, will always be empty and grey.
She took a sip of sherry. Will did have an impact though. He awakened her to the passage of time, and what that means for woman. So, late one night, when Matt banged on her door and shoved an infant into her arms, her heart was stirred. Before long she decided to keep the tiny foundling, and be her mother. Matt thought it was bad idea, and had all sorts of reasons why. Honesty was their way, so he was frank about it. She wished that he felt differently, but she knew Matt; and once she settled in with Mary, he'd come around in his own time and way. So – It was decided. The baby was hers, despite the opinion, held by Doc and Matt, that the widow Maylee should have her.
Then, Maylee came knocking at her door, grief hovering around her like a swarm of bees. She spoke softly about her miscarriage, a few months back. Her belly was already swelling, when cramps came and blood flowed thick. Her sense of loss was deep, but she knew she had a man to love and there was hope for the future. Now that man was dead, her bed was cold. She had no one to love, no hope. Baby Mary would mean – everything. Guilt rose up in up Kitty's throat. She prided herself on running a good saloon – none better. Yet, she'd know for years that Maylee's husband couldn't handle liquor. If she'd remembered to tell her bartender to cut Eli off after one drink, he wouldn't have gone on that drunken rampage. Matt wouldn't have had to shoot him in self defense.
After Maylee left, for the first time in memory, she told Matt she wanted to spend the night alone. She held Mary close, rocked her, smelled her sweet breath and stroked her downy hair. When sunlight pierced her window, she went to Matt and asked him to drive her to Maylee's. She'd decided to give her the baby. Matt looked at her with his clear blue eyes, "Are you sure?" Time stopped. The simple question reminded her that he knew the decision was hers. They might disagree, argue and battle things out, but they were equals who accepted each other's choices. She answered quickly and he drove to the farm. She handed the baby to Maylee and the joy on the widow's face, gave her some solace. Yet, as they drove away she allowed her tears to flow, and that night, over dinner, she and Matt spent hours talking about the whole complicated thing. Matt's guilt for shooting Maylee's husband weighed heavy on him, though no one blamed him. And she understood more than ever, that guilt is a hard, hard thing. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. They both knew that her choice had cost her. She rested her head on his strong, broad chest. The beat of his heart soothed her into slumber.
Kitty set her glass on the porch – where on earth was all this reminiscing coming from? She jumped to her feet and looked across the K-Star. It was smaller than many ranches but more profitable than most. Matt knew his horses, even though he didn't ride much these days. That leg of his was too shot up. But he considered himself lucky, and never complained about the pain. That's her man.
She stepped off the porch and looked down the road. Matt was nowhere in sight, but it was too early to set her mind to worrying, She carried her empty glass inside, and her eyes fell on the blue ribbon so lovingly sewn by Cassie Maxwell's mother. Sometimes she wondered what kind of mother she would have been. She'd never know, and it was hard to say exactly when that longing started fading. After giving up Mary, she still ached to have a baby. She accepted Matt's decision not to marry or have children while he wore the badge. but he couldn't be a lawman forever, and her body still had time – a little. There was hope. Then life swept in like a hurricane. Father died and, of course, left an unsavory mess behind. That meant scrambling for a business partner to run the Long Branch, while she was New Orleans sorting out her father's debts and assets. That took months, and day she returned to Dodge, the letter from the War Department came. The one that drew her ire and opened up the world. She and Matt married soon after, and went to the hight country – a necessity and a big mistake. It was after that, but before buying the K-Star, that something in her started shifting. When her monthlies came, instead of pure disappointment, her feelings were more mixed. Maybe her body was changing, maybe Doc's recent loss of two women in childbirth reminded her of the risks, or maybe the cycle of life was gently pushing her onwards – to everything there is a season. Around then Doc started pressing them to adopt a baby. Matt brought it up.
"Doc gave me the preliminary adoption papers again. What do you think?" He put an envelope on the table. She stared at it for a long minute before looking up."Matt, I'm coming up on 41 and you're 46. There are folks our age having grandkids. I guess I'm saying that I think our time for this has passed."
He reached across the table and clasped her hand. "Kitty I'm the reason we put things off. I know you could have..."
"Matt, I had choices. A choice means picking one thing, and not something else. That's the way life is. If I had left for someone, somewhere, something else, it would have meant – not spending one more day with you. That will happen, when one of us is taken from this good earth, and not a moment sooner."
He squeezed her hand. "Kitty, you know how I feel." A question and a statement.
"I'm not a damn fool, Matt Dillon."
Kitty blinked back tears. She'd made good choices, and looking back could honestly say she wouldn't change a day, not one. The bad days made her who she was and the good ones were priceless gems she carried in her heart. She glanced out the window and frowned. Where had the time gone? It was growing dark; Matt should have been home a while ago. She rushed out to the porch. All was still. The air was warm, and the breeze gentle but she shivered. Something was wrong – she knew it in her bones. She ran to the barn. Matt had the wagon, so she'd saddle her mare to get to town. "Damn it Matt, we deserve another day."
TBC