Party Time
The large wall clock showed ten minutes to seven. Miss Kitty paced around the room as it began to fill with the invited guests. Neither of us could be certain which Texans were in Charron and Cumberledge's outfits and which were strangers who drifted in to spend their money in the best saloon in Dodge in a saloon crowded with visitors and locals. I could tell my boss was worried all the preparation would be for nothing despite everything being apparently set. The food was on the table set aside for it along with plates, forks, knives, spoons and even napkins. Just about everyone special to the man who was largely responsible for taming Dodge City to the point where folks felt comfortable raising kids here was seated at the reserved table except for the guest of honor and Miss Kitty. Our meals, including mine, had been delivered to the Long Branch kitchen from Delmonico's in covered dishes. I know why my boss, who is also my friend, is pacing. Until the guest of honor actually walks into the room she can't be sure he'll show.
Nobody could fail to notice that imposing figure peering over the batwing doors as the stroke of seven; surely not any of us waiting in the Long Branch for him to show. His eyes spotted the woman we all knew was at the center of his world even while both pretended nobody had an inkling they were a couple. My red-haired boss burst into a smile to match that of the marshal as their eyes locked for only a moment. Miss Kitty turned her steps to the table in the back by the stairs where Doc, Festus and Newly sat. Matt Dillon followed in her wake. I stayed behind the bar so as not to arouse any suspicions that it was anything but a quick meal with close friends who had become his family. Once our marshal was seated Miss Kitty would give me a signal. It meant I was to head for the kitchen to retrieve my own meal.
"I hope y'all don't mind but I guessed at what you might want to eat, steak and all the trimmings. Sam knows where it's being kept warm," she uttered, while nodding at me to get their food and mine just as Marshal Dillon reached the table.
He seemed a bit surprised that it wasn't just the two of them, but came to accept the others being there. I remained long enough to see her exchange a few words before he sat in his usual chair, the one from which he could watch the entire room. I knew Miss Kitty would follow me into the kitchen. I'd take care of the large tray with three meals in covered dishes. She'd bring the tray with the remaining two meals out. I set my three platters on the tray so I'd know who got what. Upon arrival at what at a wedding reception would be the head table I handed each man a set of utensils and placed the remaining two sets in front of where I knew Miss Kitty and the Marshal would sit. She put the platters meant for the two of them down. As soon as she did, Mr. Dillon ever a gentleman, held out her chair. One chair remained without a place setting or platter when Miss Kitty arrived with her tray.
"Sam, would you bring the beer. Then join us," she told me as she sat in the proffered chair. "There's an extra place just waiting for you."
Everything was going according to plan so far. The marshal accepted that I too was in for a busy night and so would need to grab my supper while I could. We ate and chatted after a bit of plate repositioning, seemingly forgetting any time constraints. Our town's keeper of the peace was too absorbed in the company, his food and watching for troublemakers to notice the saloon's free lunch was not only available for supper; it was much fancier than normal. He seemed to take no notice of the fact that just about everyone in the barroom was well acquainted with him, but I suspect he did.
The first to excuse myself, I headed straight for the bar where I'd hidden the sheet cake with the icing spelling out "Happy 40th Birthday Marshal Dillon" and placed it in the space I'd reserved for dessert on the food table. Then I headed back behind the bar to get the champagne in its ice bucket and glasses. I'm not certain, but Mr. Dillon may have finally given his suspicious full reign when Miss Kitty excused herself and walked toward the kitchen. Those suspicions turned to certainty when my boss returned carrying a cake topped with candles with me in her wake carrying champagne in a bucket. I could tell that if he could find an excuse our guest of honor would race out of the Long Branch. Yet I also think under the embarrassment he was pleased his friends thought enough of him to surprise him on his birthday. Miss Kitty setting the cake on our table and bending to light the candles was the cue for seemingly everyone in the room singing For He's a Jolly Good Fellow.
"Happy birthday, Matt," the beautiful redhead declared once the song was sung. "Make a wish and blow them out before the wax ruins the icing, Cowboy."
"Kitty, by golly, how did you manage it?" he choked out as his face reddened to match her hair. "I hope you didn't all get me presents," he added as we grabbed the wrapped gifts we'd hidden under the table.
"It wasn't easy Cowboy," she replied in answer to his question. "Please force yourself to remain until you eat your cake and open your presents."
"It seems quiet in here and nobody's racing over from any of the other saloons so I'll eat some of this cake," noticing as she handed him a knife to slice into it that it said "I baked this just for you" rather than "Happy Birthday". "Kit, does what it says mean this isn't from Delmonico's or Ma?"
Yeah. Ma baked the sheet cake for everyone else. That's the one with the birthday wishes," Miss Kitty responded. "Any other questions I can answer for you?"
"It's under control in here but what's keeping things quiet everywhere else?" he replied again the lawman after the momentary lapse into being simply Matt Dillon the man.
"Not to worry Matthew. Newly and I arranged it so the trail bosses you trust are keeping their drovers in line," Festus replied to reassure him. "Charron and Cumberledge are helpin' see to that in here," the deputy added.
Folks were enjoying the slices Ma Smalley cut from her white cake with fudge frosting and spun sugar lettering. Most stopped stuffing their mouths long enough to drift over to greet the man whose birthday they were celebrating. The strangers didn't bother to saunter by with birthday wishes to our marshal except one. With all the hustle and bustle of the happy celebration none of us noticed a man make his way toward our table.