GUNSMOKE
"The Legacy"
Matt felt her presence on the boardwalk next to him before she spoke.
"Well, I see the town marshal's real busy this afternoon..."
Dillon smiled broadly at her, and tipped his hat back on his head, leaning back in his chair, causing its front legs to balance in the air.
"Maybe the lawbreakers have given the town marshal the afternoon off."
"Is that so?"
He leaned forward, and the front two legs of the chair came back to the boardwalk.
"Sure looks that way to me..."
She crossed her arms in front of herself, smiling.
"Then how about letting a saloon owner buy you a drink?"
He stood, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
"I haven't heard an offer as good as that all day."
Kitty laughed deeply as they began moving toward the Longbranch. A moment later, a familiar voice nearby caught her attention.
"Do you have any money?"
Russell looked over in front of the General Store to see Doc Adams addressing young Tommy Collins, she nudged Dillon, who followed her gaze. The little blonde boy silently shook his head at the doctor, fear filling his large brown eyes which stared up into the old man's austere face. Adams kept his expression impassive, resisting the urge to smile.
"You don't have any money?" The little boy shook his head harder. Doc reached into his pocket, pulled out a nickel and handed it to the child, who tentatively reached out and took it. Adams glared sternly at him. "Now don't you spend that!"
Filled with glee, the seven year old charged into the General Store, unaware of the grin now tugging at the old doctor's lips. Oblivious to his audience, Adams didn't notice Matt and Kitty observing him from several feet away. Shaking his head to himself in amusement, he put his hands in his pockets and walked in the opposite direction. The redhead turned to the marshal, a soft look in her eyes.
"It's sort of a shame that he doesn't have kids..."
Picking up on the double meaning, Dillon looked away, mumbling, "Yeah, I suppose it is..."
Kitty took a hold of Matt's arm, as they once again headed toward the Longbranch, a pensive silence now lying between them.
"How many times do I gotta tell ya, woman," the man roared, "I want my food served warm, not hot! I don't care to be burnin' my mouth on this slop you call dinner."
The burly man threw the plate of steaming food at his wife's head, hitting her arms with it, as she tried to cover her face, the plate smashing as it hit the floor. He took several menacing steps toward her, grabbing her hard by the upper arm. The woman cried out in pain.
"It's bad enough you ain't no good no more as a wife, the leastest you can do is keep this pig sty clean and git me my food the way I want it." His voice became gritty and dangerous, "I ain't gonna tell you again, woman. Now you mind what I say and clean up this mess and fix me another plate afore I take a broom handle to you."
To punctuate his anger, he shoved her into the wall, her head banging against it. She rubbed her hand across the back of her skull, and then cowering close to the floor, began cleaning up the splattered food and smashed plate. The pale blue eyes watching from the relative safety of the partially closed bedroom door blinked away tears. For as long as she could remember, he had beaten and abused her mother. She quietly closed the door and leaned against it, looking at her own maturing figure; the one he had been staring at more and more. How much longer was it going to be before he came at her?
The seventeen year old flung herself on the bed, burying her face into the comforter, muffling the sounds of her tears: how she hated him. She missed her father, who over the course of her life had begun to fade from memory, long since having turned to dust. She reached over to the bedside table and pulled at the cloth doll sitting there; the one he had given to her on her fourth birthday. It had been the last present her father had ever given to her, and it was the one thing in her possession that she truly treasured.
She buried her face into the doll's dress as the sounds of screaming and abuse filtered in from the other room. It seemed that her mother had still not satisfied her stepfather's wish for a lukewarm meal. Cassie covered her ears trying to shut it all out, as she softly sang the song her father taught her.
"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleep you little baby. When you wake, you'll have cake, and all the pretty little horses--"
The sound of her mother's piercing scream put an end to the song, and any hope Cassie Stevenson might have had that the beatings would stop. She tried to squelch her cry of fear when she heard him pounding on her door; but then, it had only been a matter of time