He thought he heard voices out in the front office; one of them sounded like Matt, but it couldn't be, because the man was drunk. He heard a few things fall to the floor, and then only silence. A moment later, the door opened, and she stood there, as beautiful to him as she ever was. He gripped the cell bars tightly in his large hands, his emotions hitting him harder than he would have expected.

His voice was bare and vulnerable when he uttered the one word. "Kitty..."

She managed a slight smile for him. "Hello Doc."

He unsuccessfully tried to keep the emotion from his voice, "It sure is nice to see you."

She studied her shoes for a moment, then made herself look him in the eye. "I should have come sooner, Doc."

He smiled at her. "You've been busy..." He couldn't keep the quiver from his voice, "But I'm awfully glad you're here."

She moved closer to the cell, standing about a foot away. "I wasn't busy. I was angry."

He nodded. "I know." He paused for a moment, then continued, "I didn't mean any of it, Kitty. Can you forgive an old fool?"

"You're not old, and you're most certainly not a fool. What you are is too obstinate for your own good." She moved yet closer, almost touching his hands on the bars. "Didn't I see Ruth Bradley leaving just now? What was she doing here?"

He backed away from the bars slightly. "Same thing you are."

"She have any luck?"

"Nope."

"I don't understand you, Doc. Do you realize the trouble you're in?"

His pale blue eyes were steady and sure. "I think I've got a pretty good idea, yes."

"But you'd die rather than tell about Aaron Bradley?"

"Nope, but he's dead now, and there ain't nothin' to be gained by tellin' tales..."

"The truth is always worth tellin' about." Kitty pulled a piece of paper from her purse. "I took the liberty of contacting the court in Easton." Doc's piercing gaze hit her, and she began reading from the telegram, "Margaret McGee Adams, died 18th December, 1867 during childbirth--"

"--Don't...you have no right--"

"--Male child, Joseph Hugh Adams, died at birth by umbilical suffocation--"

"--Kitty, please don't--"

"--Eight year old, Shirley Jeanette Adams, died 25th December 1867, suicide. Dr. Aaron Bradley tried for negligent incompetence from intoxication, 16th January, 1868, acquitted by jury."

Doc backed himself into the corner of the cell and slid down the wall to the floor, tears flowing freely down his face. The pity in her beautiful blue eyes made it hurt that much more, and brought it crashing through him as though it had just happened. With her own tears running down her cheeks, Kitty went into the office and took the keys off the peg on the wall. She opened the cell, and knelt next to him, taking him in her arms.

His voice was a soft cry, "Why? Why couldn't you just let this go?"

She took his face between her hands. "Because I couldn't let you go." Kitty pulled his head into her shoulder, and held him close. "You should have told me. Or Matt. My God when I think of all the years that you've shouldered this alone," her voice was close to breaking, "How you must have hurt..."

Kitty cried with Doc for a long while, and then gently brushed his hair back with her hand, wiped his tears and helped him off the floor, sitting him down on the cot.

"You look exhausted, Doc. Just lie down now, and get some rest."

She settled him onto the bunk, and picked up the blanket, intending to cover him with it. She looked down and saw the edge of a tintype peeking out from his vest pocket. She reached for it, and his hand grabbed hers, stopping her. Their eyes locked, holding each other for a long while, then finally, slowly, he removed his hand, and she carefully extracted the photo from his pocket. It was a family picture. Her eyes filled with tears as she sat down on the edge of the cot. Doc put a comforting hand on her knee, and she rested her own on top of it.

"Doc...she was lovely."

His voice was a bare whisper. "Yes she was."

"What color was her hair?"

He smiled then, gently reaching up to stroke hers. "A very vibrant redhead, my Maggie, with bright blue eyes, and a quick wit."

On some level, Kitty Russell was not the least bit surprised to discover the resemblance, and at the same time, it cut deeply to know that he thought of someone else whenever he looked at her.

"How old was she when..."

His voice remained calm, soft, "When she died?" Kitty nodded, so he continued, "She was 27."

"How long were you married?"

"Ten years."

"Why didn't you ever tell me you had a wife and daughter?"

He shrugged, his eyes filling once more. "Hurt too much, honey."

She pat his side gently, and felt the hard metal ring in his pocket. Without a word, he pulled it out and handed it to her. She read the inscription silently, not wanting to cause him any more heartache. Kitty turned the gold band in her hand and marveled at the large size. Sensing that some part of her couldn't imagine it being his, he held out his left hand, and gently Kitty slid the ring on his fourth finger. She admired it for a moment.

"It suits you."

"It did at one time."

He silently pulled it off, and slid it back into his pocket.

"Doc, why didn't you ever remarry?"

"Why are you askin' so many difficult questions of a condemned murderer?"

"That's not funny, Doc."

"I suppose not...but the tellin' of this old truth changes nothing about the present. Ruth Bradley ain't gonna change her story."

She brushed her fingers softly through his hair. "Don't underestimate the power and strength of women." Kitty bent down and kissed him softly on the lips, then covered him with the blanket. "Go to sleep. I'll be back at suppertime."

"Kitty..."

He had thanked God every day for sending him Kitty Russell; for giving back to him one small part of what had been taken. But how could he ever tell her that she had become the daughter he had lost, or that he loved her more every day?

"What is it, Doc?"

He simply couldn't put it into words; no man could.

He smiled weakly at her. "You...you just be careful out there."

She looked at him curiously, but let it go. "Don't you worry about a thing."