The following Wednesday, I hitched up our young horse Marcus to the wagon, and headed into Dodge for flour, sugar, coffee, beans, yeast, and feed, thanks to the fifty dollars I now had. I would also stop by for the Marshal's laundry.
I was putting the last sack of flour in my wagon when I saw Kitty Russell heading my way, her arms full of dresses and frilly underthings. When she saw me, a smile lit up her face and she quickened her pace.
"Oh, Mrs. Reed! I'm Kitty Russell. I'm so glad to see you! How are you making out? Is there anything you need?"
I had never met this young woman, but she was impossible not to notice, with her flaming red hair, striking blue eyes, and beautiful face and figure. I knew she was a "saloon woman," but close up like this, all I saw was the deep kindness and genuine caring in those blue-blue eyes looking at me.
"Miss Russell. Thank you so much, but I am making out. Life will never be the same, and I miss my Joe with every breath, but I will continue on, as he would want."
I was stunned at what I had just confided to a stranger. I was not one to talk about myself or my feelings, but there was something about this lovely young woman who now had tears in her eyes, that made me trust her.
She cleared her throat, sniffed and swallowed. Even with an armload of clothing, she managed to extend a slim, lightly freckled hand and touch my hands that were now tightly clasped in front of me.
"Mrs. Reed. I was wondering if you would consider being my laundress? I was on my way to Mrs. Dunwoody, but…well…she tends to send my dresses back missing buttons. She is always telling me to find someone else. That my clothing is too frilly and takes too much time. Matt, er, the Marshal, mentioned that you are going to care for his clothing now, and well, I was hoping you could use another customer?"
"Miss Russell, I would be proud to do so. Let me have those, now."
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Reed. And please call me Kitty."
"I'm Ella," I smiled and said.
The lovely young woman was smiling happily as she turned back to the saloon.
I had taken the pile of clothing from her arms and covered them with a blanket in the back of the wagon. My second customer! Maybe I could make a living at this, doing something I enjoyed. Now I needed to go collect the Marshal's laundry.
Over the next few weeks, I had more and more people stopping me in the General Store or on the street whenever I went into town, asking me to take over their laundry chores.
Chester did his own laundry, I discovered, but Doc Adams and eventually big, gentle bartender Sam let me wash, bleach, starch, and iron the white shirts they always wore. I could never convince the doctor to let me clean and press his one good suit, or mend his tattered vest. He said he could not be without them for even an hour or two. He winked and told me he pressed his pants under his mattress at night.
Then there was Festus. I had been a full-time laundress for a good nine years when he started staying around Dodge and helping the Marshal before becoming his Deputy. One day when I was dropping off Matt's laundry at his office, I saw the scruffy hill man sitting at the small wooden table playing checkers with Doc.
"Excuse me, Mr. Haggen. I was wondering if you would like me to wash and iron your shirts and pants like I do for the Marshal and the doctor? I mend them too, if needed."
Festus looked at me in wide-eyed horror, mouth open, his right forefinger paused on a red checker.
"Whaaa?! Mrs. Reed, yar a mighty fine lady an' all, but my clothes don't NEED no washin' or whatever! They's hardly comfy yet!"
"Yes Ma'am! He's only been wearing that shirt for a week now! He only washes it when Ruth goes through a river and the water splashes him!" Doc gleefully said, his hand swiping over his mustache as he laughed.
"Pfft!" Festus puffed out, looking back down and shoving his checker forward.
Doc grinned as he immediately jumped that checker and three others, ending the game.
I had already laid down the clean package of laundry on Matt's desk, picked up the dirty bundle from the box in the corner, and quietly slipped out the door.
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As I said, it has now been eighteen years since my Joe died and I became a laundress. My life has been full of good, hard work and friendly people, but I am still lonely, and always will be until the good Lord sees fit to reunite us in heaven.
As I think back on my first customer, my good friend Matt Dillon, I remember the initial shock at the condition of his clothing at times.
At least thirteen times, one of his sleeves has been bloody and torn, and once the right sleeve was completely cut off at the bicep. Mostly, it was the left sleeves that bore the damage.
When the shirt was too torn up for me to be able to salvage the sleeves, I washed it and kept it as patching material for the other damaged shirts.
The first time that I unrolled a shirt with a bloody hole in the chest it made me gasp. Fortunately, there have only been three such shirts that I can recall.
Three shirts had bullet holes in the back, which outraged me while making me thank God for the survival of this good, good man. One of those shirts actually had THREE entry wounds in the upper left back area! The very worst was a single, solitary hole in the middle of the low back. That one almost left him like my poor Joe would have been if he had lived. Oh, this was a strong, blessed man!
I can only recall two bloody pairs of his pants, but, oh, the amount of blood on the one with the wound in the back of the left upper leg! I learned that the big man had gotten out of his bed and ridden hard to find and save Kitty, Doc, and Festus, all the while the wound bled and saturated the thigh area. Somehow I had managed to soak the blood out, leaving the galvanized wash tub water bright red.
Even the condition of Kitty's clothing surprised me at times. At least three of her lovely outfits came to me looking as if she had been slogging through snagging weeds and branches and dirt, and had slept on the ground! I never asked any questions. My job was to clean and patch and iron. One yellow blouse came to me with both sleeves torn open at the elbows, and so dirty that it looked tan until washed!
The clothing that I washed while tears ran down my face told their own sad stories in my imagination. The top with the bloody bullet hole on the left side. Then some years later, the frilly white nightgown with the rips at the neckline and blood stains below the waist.
The worst was when I happened to start up the stairs for Doc's dirty shirts a little less than a year and a half ago. I got into town late and didn't know about the terrible deeds of Jude Bonner and his Dog Soldiers. Doc met me at the top of the stairs and instead of shirts, shoved a filthy brown skirt, torn and bloody yellow blouse, and blood-stained underwear at me.
'BURN THEM, Mrs. Reed! BURN THEM!"
I looked into his angry face wet with tears, took the clothing and nodded. He took in a deep, ragged breath, patted my hand, and went back into his office, softly closing the door behind him. As I turned to go back down the stairs, I glanced in the window and saw Matt sitting close beside the examination table where Kitty lay with closed eyes. He was holding her hand tenderly, his eyes on her battered face. I bowed my head, said a fervent prayer, and went down the steps. At the bottom, Nathan Burke pulled me aside and told me what had happened. It seemed as if most of the men in town were now milling around nearby. I gently put the soiled clothing on the wagon seat beside me, and kept a hand on it all the long way home.
As soon as I got home and settled Marcus in his stall, I took the soiled bundle out to my burn pit. Setting the clothing ablaze, I tearfully watched the pain dissipate into the night air, wrapped in smoke and flame.
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Next week I will be making my last payment to the bank. The mortgage for the home we built together so many years ago will be completed. My Joe would be so very proud, but I will remain a laundress.
I am needed.
End.