Dry Route to Dodge
A Gunsmoke Story
by MAHC (Amanda)
Chapter Five: Too Many Answers
POV: Doc
Spoilers: "Gold Mine"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters, but I love them.
Doctor Galen Adams sat at their usual table in the Long Branch, sipping at his beer and watching the customers. It was early, yet. The rowdy crowd was still cow punching, or buffalo hunting, or sleeping off the previous night's carousing somewhere. Dodge City's best saloon was practically deserted.
But what really made it lonely was not the absence of many, but the absence of one.
The Long Branch without Kitty Russell just wasn't – well, wasn't the Long Branch. Sighing, he set the mug down on the green table and stared reflectively into the golden liquid.
On a slow day, he might have found himself involved in the comfortable company of a beautiful saloon owner, an imposing United States marshal, and – yes, he would admit – a wizened deputy marshal. But even though this was a slow day, no comfortable company surrounded him. In fact, he was the table's sole occupant.
With no broken arms or birthings to attend, he let his thoughts drift back several days. My goodness, but Matt had been furious, about as furious as the doctor had ever seen him. About as furious as he had been another time when Kitty headed off on her own to check out that confounded gold mine she inherited.
He had been in much the same predicament then, out of town and unable to talk her out of going – or at least try. This time, however, nothing stood in the way upon his return. The doctor knew Matt wouldn't be able just to wait around for Kitty to come back. He just hoped when he saw him again, that the big lawman would be cooled down a bit. It wasn't as if he and Festus had forced her to go alone. In fact, Doc had done his best to insinuate himself into that trip, but Kathleen Russell was as headstrong as they came.
Still, he doubted she would be disappointed to see Matt appear. Doc smiled to himself and swiped a hand over his bushy mustache at the thought of the couple. And, yes, they were, indeed, a couple, he knew. Well, by golly, he wasn't the only one, either. For years the citizens of Dodge had watched closely to catch glimpses of affection: exchanged glances, subtle touches, careful innuendos.
Whatever proprieties anyone might suggest they had broken – and no one did much anymore – there could be no argument that they loved each other very much. Like many townspeople, Doc had witnessed moments of closeness between the two. As the town doctor, though, as well as their friend, he was pretty certain that he had been privy to the more intimate moments that came when Matt lay on that examining table, bleeding, and Kitty stood by, soothing, encouraging, comforting. Or sometimes, even rarer times, when Kitty was the one on the table and Matt's guard was down, his mask off, his blue eyes naked with fear and pain and love.
He particularly savored the memory of one stolen moment that neither Matt nor Kitty knew he had seen. It happened late one spring evening about two years before. He had been coaxing his horse and buggy wearily back into town after spending the better part of two days at the Pelgrin's place out toward Cimarron. Norma Pelgrin's twins had been born and had died, and he had nearly lost the mother in the process. Too early, too little. Aching for the grieving parents, and for the children who never even had a chance at life, he finally headed home, heavy-hearted and despairing of his lack of skills.
Even Dodge slept sometimes, and he was so late that the town had gone to bed with only prairie dogs and coyotes scuffling around outside. With one weary foot on the bottom stair to his office, he let his gaze survey the quiet buildings, considering the rare sounds of a slumbering citizenry. A sudden movement caught his eye, and he peered into the darkness that enveloped the space just past the jail.
The forms were unmistakable, the slender female and the tall male, walking, arms around each other toward the side door. He smiled, willing his mind to override the horrible memories of Norma's struggles with the scene before him. But serendipity wasn't finished. Amazingly, the couple paused at the entrance, glancing to see if anyone was around. Apparently satisfied, the tall man bent, his arms going around her waist, pulling her to him, lifting her so that their lips met. She clutched at his shoulders, throwing herself into the embrace. Transfixed, Doc stared at them. He didn't think he had ever actually seen them kiss before, and it was a beautiful and satisfying sight. He waited for them to realize where they were, to separate and go on their way, but instead they continued, falling against the side wall of the jail, her legs coming up around his thighs, his hat tumbling unnoticed to the ground, their bodies moving against each other in a dance that had obviously been choreographed years before.
"Dear God," Doc thought with a conflicting battle of horror and glee, "they're not going to stop. They're going to – "
But as he tried to decide whether he should turn away or just enjoy the show, the lawman bent to swing her up into his arms, pulled open the door, and strode purposefully inside. Doc had no doubts about how the rest of their evening progressed, and counted himself fortunate to have been allowed – however unknowingly – that moment of insight. Or voyeurism, he admitted with a blush.
Smiling at the memory, Doc let his thoughts return to present. No, he didn't figure Kitty would be disappointed at all when Matt showed up in Kansas City. He just hoped the sometimes-oblivious marshal would have enough sense to stay there for a few days.
"Doc! Doc!"
The calm of the bar was shattered by the clanging of spurs and the twanging of vocal chords. He looked up in time to see Festus Haggen push through the swinging doors, waving what looked to be a telegram in the air.
"Festus!" he scolded, sitting up straighter. "What on earth – "
"It's from Matthew!" he announced. "A tel-ee-gram."
Before he thought, the doctor said, "Well, don't just stand there. What does it say?"
The enthusiasm faded a bit, and the deputy's hands began searching around in shirt and vest pockets. "Well, let's see here. I don't rightly know whar I put them spec-ticles. They wuz jes rat chere, don't cha know."
Doc let him fumble for a minute with the transparent ruse, then snatched the telegram from his fingers and slid it open. "They'll be back before you get to it," he grumbled.
Pulling the brief message out, he read:
"FATHER DEAD STOP RETURNING STAGECOACH STOP ARRIVE WEDNESDAY PM STOP MATT"
"Well?" Festus asked, peering over his shoulder as if he actually could read the words.
Doc didn't bother jerking it away. "Kitty's father died."
The grizzled face fell. "Ain't that a shame. An' him a wantin' ta see her, too."
"At least Matt got there to be with her." Thank God. "Says they're taking the stage back."
"The stage? Well, why not the train from Kansas City? It's a heap more comfortable."
"That's all it says, Festus. They're returning by stagecoach and they'll be back Wednesday."
He hooked a thumb into his vest. "Well, I'm shor glad Matthew went."
"Didn't I just say that?"
"Fiddle faddle. Jest 'cause yor glad don't mean I kain't be neither."
"Oh, for Pete's sake," Doc sputtered, flummoxed, as usual, by the deputy's unique logic. "All of Kansas can be ecstatic that he went!" he yelled, throwing his hands into the air.
"I'm jest sayin' ye ain't the onliest one what's a wishin' good tidings fer Matthew and Miss Kitty is all."
The earnestness in Festus' voice dampened the doctor's enjoyment of the argument, and he sighed in defeat. "Yeah," he said, as close as he would come to acknowledging his agreement.
The deputy sighed and plopped down in one of the empty chairs. "Doc?"
"What is it Festus?"
"Ain't today Wednesday?"
He paused and blinked a time or two. "By golly, it is. I've been a day behind all week. You say that telegram just came?"
Ducking his head, the deputy shrugged. "Well, I don't guess I said that in particular."
"What? You mean you've had that telegram – "
"Well, I wuz busy yesterdee, Doc, and I mightn't have forgot it."
"Forgot?"
"What time is it, Doc?"
"What?"
"What time is it?"
Now he had tried to teach Festus to tell time for the past three years without success, and usually took strange delight in berating him when he asked yet again. This time, however, he merely looked at his watch. "It's ten after four."
"What time's the stage usually git in?"
"Oh, about 3:30."
Both men turned to look at each other with sudden comprehension, then jerked to their feet and hurried as quickly as they could onto Front Street. To their disappointment, no stage waited for them, no passengers disembarked, no dust even rose from the outskirts of town to indicate impending arrival.
No stage.
"Ya reckon they've already bin?" Festus wondered aloud.
"Of course not. We would have heard – well, of course not. They're just late, that's all. Stages are late all the time."
"That's a fact," the deputy agreed.
"No need to worry."
"None a'tall."
"Just late."
A tense moment of silence passed between them as they pretended to believe each other. Finally, though, they could no longer suppress their unease.
"What coulda happened?" Festus wondered.
Doc grimaced. That question had way too many answers.