The sun at dinnertime burned hot as the stove when a body poked kindling in its flaming belly, and the air hung heavy as a bedroll fresh from the washtub. The first dusty breeze since sunup cut the mugginess and wafted through the livery, and hearing a horse approach, Moss stepped out to greet the rider and feel the current on his weathered face.
Returning from fishing all day at the Arkansas, Chester slumped in the saddle, a bulky string of trout, bass and catfish tied to the pommel. "You had a good day," said Moss.
Chester slowly dismounted and fumbled at the string. "Ah'll pull a mess loose for you thar, Moss. Caught more'n me an' Mr. Dillon, Doc 'n Miss Kitty kin eat to once."
"You sure are red, Chester. You fall asleep out there without your hat?"
"Hackberry trees on the riverbank was chopped down, so I was in the sun the day long. Fish bit so fast I dint look for a shady place. An' the Arkansas rushes too deep there ta jump in 'n cool yerself. I splashed water on ma head."
"Didn't cool you any from the looks of you," said Moss. "I got water fresh from the well if you wanna come in the stable and set a spell."
"Cain't now. I best get these fish to the office an' fry 'em 'fore I drop in my tracks. I'm that tuckered."
Before he covered half the short distance from Grimmick's livery to the jailhouse, Chester knew his dragging limbs would not let him so much as clean the fish, cook them let alone. Dizzy as he was, he set his muddled head not to pass out and get the fish soiled and splintery from the boardwalk.
Mr. Dillon sat outside sheltered by a late afternoon shadow, legs crossed at the ankles and hat pulled over his eyes. Shadows were tolerable this time of day, if warm as steaming bathwater.
Matt looked up as he heard his partner's limping tread. Chester stumbled along like the fish he carried weighed him down. Matt walked to meet him. "Chester. That's quite a catch."
"Cain't fix 'em savory like I want to, Mr. Dillon. Ah'm a li'l too wore down."
"I'll carry 'em." Matt took the fish. Chester was quiet, though he usually chatted after fishing. He collapsed on his bed and fell asleep.
Matt looked at him a moment, then toted the fish to Delmonico's, where the cooks agreed to fry them for sixty cents. "Come back in two hours, Marshal. We'll have 'em ready," said the head cook. "Want some tater salad and hot johnnycake and butter with your fish? Lemonade, maybe?"
"Sure," said Matt.
"Thirty cent more," said the cook.
Matt paid the coins and went on to the Long Branch. Kitty and Doc sat sipping beers as the pianola played Buffalo Gals. The barroom was full yet not crowded, men and gals subdued from the day's scorching heat.
"Hello, Kitty." Matt grinned and tipped his hat. "Doc."
"Matt," said Kitty, returning his smile. "Sit down. Want a beer?"
"Sounds good."
"Sam," Kitty called. "Beer for Matt."
"Chester not back from fishin'?" said Doc.
"He's back. Caught a big mess of trout. Bass and channel cat. Plenty for the four of us," said Matt.
"Oh, so he's fryin' 'em?" said Doc.
"Delmonico's is fryin' 'em. Chester's sleeping."
"Sleeping." Doc frowned in puzzlement. "Never known Chester to bring home a catch without fixin' 'em straightaway. At suppertime, particular."
"He was tired, Doc. Said he's too worn out to fix the fish."
"Is he sick?" said Kitty.
"I don't know, Kitty. His face is real red."
"Too much sun, likely," said Doc.
"Dinner should make him feel better. When do we eat, Matt?" said Kitty.
"Cook said two hours."
"Two hours," said Doc. "I don't know that I can wait that long. I'll go see if Chester's alright. Take my mind off food a spell."
"I'll come with ya," said Matt, draining his beer mug.
"You two aren't gonna leave me sitting here alone. I'm coming, too," said Kitty.
Chester did not stir when they walked in the office. Doc touched his shoulder. "Chester."
He opened his eyes and rolled on his back, blinking blearily at Doc. "Howdy, Doc. I had the nicest dream. Miss Kitty. Pardon me not gittin' up. Ah'm a mite poorly, maybe."
"That's alright, Chester," said Kitty.
"Bring him some water, would you, Matt?" said Doc.
"I could drink up the Arkansas, by golly. Fish'd die iffen ah did, onliest thang," Chester mused in a singsong tone. He bobbed his head gravely at Doc, his large brown eyes red-rimmed and watery-bright in a red face.
"What's wrong with him, Doc?" said Kitty.
"He's fevered. Sit up and drink, Chester," said Doc.
Matt handed Chester the full dipper, which he drained without pause.
"A beautiful woman asked me to take her to the dance, Mr. Dillon." Chester smiled at Matt. "The purtiest sweet dream lady. She said 'spect her, that she will come to me. An' she kissed me. She smelled like a rose." Doc slipped a thermometer under Chester's tongue, took out the stethoscope and listened to his heart.
"That's quite a dream," said Matt.
"Well if this woman doesn't show up, you can take me to the dance, Chester," said Kitty.
"Oh, I'd admire to, Miss Kitty. You go 'head with Mr. Dillon, though, like he wants you to. I'll take my new lady friend."
"You have Siriasis, Chester," said Doc.
"What's that, Doc," said Chester.
"Summer complaint. I keep this in my bag, June through September." Doc put a bottle labeled Sweet Spirit of Nitre on the table. "That'll bring your fever down. And this stays in my bag year round." He put a tonic bottle beside the nitre. "The rest of it is just that. Rest. Stay out of the sun, drink a lot of water. No work 'til I say so. Easy for you, that part of it," Doc said, with none of the usual saltiness in his voice when he joshed Chester.
"Hope you're hungry, Chester," said Matt. "Delmonico's is frying the fish. We got tater salad and johnnycake and lemonade."
"He shouldn't eat all that, Matt. It's too heavy," said Kitty.
"Something cooling is better with summer complaint," said Doc. "Like berries and cream."
They looked at Chester, waiting for his objection. He loved to eat, slim as he was, and he especially liked fried fish. "Berries 'n cream is fine, Doc," he mumbled. "Cain't fetch none from Delmonico's, though. Um too swimmy-headed."
"Don't worry about that. I'll pick it up," said Matt.
"Reckon I'll snooze some more," Chester said, after Doc gave him nitre mixed in water and a spoon of tonic. He flopped on his pillow and slept.
"Let's have dinner now so we don't disturb him. You can bring the berries and cream back for him, Matt," Kitty said in a hushed tone.
"Hasn't been two hours since I gave the cooks the fish. We'll have to sit thirty minutes at Delmonico's before we get to eat," Matt whispered.
"We can talk and have coffee while we wait," whispered Kitty.
Matt hesitated. With his belly grumbling, he was reluctant to sip coffee, chat and smell the suppers of the diners around him.
"Kitty's right," said Doc, his voice lowered in turn. "Sleep's the best thing for Chester. He needs it quiet."
"Alright." Matt sighed and put on his hat.
Kitty took his arm as they headed to Delmonico's, and Doc walked behind them. "I've been thinking," said Kitty.
"Uh-oh," said Doc.
"About Chester's dream," said Kitty. "A pretty woman asking him to take her to the dance."
"You have a lady in mind, Kitty?" said Matt.
"I hired her this morning. She's thirty-three, older than the girls Chester usually courts."
"Still younger than Chester by four years," said Doc.
"And she looks ten years younger than her age," said Kitty. "She's real nice and ladylike. To say she's the prettiest woman in town can't describe it. Lillian's enchanting."
The waiter had reserved a table for them. "Chester not dining tonight?" he said, pulling out a chair for Kitty.
"He got too much sun fishing. He's abed with Siriasis," said Doc.
"Sorry to hear it," said the waiter. "A shame he'll miss out on those good fish. Your dinner will be ready in ten, fifteen minutes. Water and coffee coming right up."
"Her name's Lillian Temple," said Kitty. "I think she'll be happy to go to the dance with Chester."
"Woman in Chester's dream kissed him," said Doc.
"Oh, Lillian will kiss him if I ask her to, and we won't have to worry about Chester getting too attached to her," said Kitty.
"We won't," said Matt. "Squiring a beautiful woman to the dance and kissing her? Chester will fall for her sure, Kitty."
"Course he will," said Doc.
"Well he won't have time to really fall in love. She's leaving Dodge soon to live with her sister and brother-in-law in Oregon. The brother-in-law's an attorney in Salem, and Lillian's sister is decorating a room special and having dresses made for her, buying hats and jewelry and all. The sister will send her a telegram to come when everything's ready," said Kitty.
"Not likely a woman would give all that up to be Chester's lady," said Doc.
"No, Doc. It's only for the dance. Lillian's sister just married, and her husband is prosperous and wants to take care of Lillian. She won't have to hold a job or do housework or anything. They have servants," said Kitty. A pensive look shadowed her exquisite face.
"What is it, Kitty?" said Matt.
"Oh, nothing much. He's sweet on Lillian. He can't stop her going to the dance with Chester. She does what she wants to do. Lillian doesn't care much for Taggart, anyway. She only lets him spark her cause she likes his looks," said Kitty.
"Russ Taggart? That gambler?" said Matt.
"He's a charmer," said Kitty.
"He behaves like a trickster. Women oughtn't trust a fella like that," said Doc.
Kitty thought Taggart tolerably civil for a gambler. She later wished she'd heeded Doc's warning. Doc was generally right. A year or so younger than Chester, Taggart wore fine suits and had gentlemanly manners. Unlike many who patronized the Long Branch, he was not forceful or a fighter, nor did he carry a gun.
Lillian worked daytime until six o'clock, and when Taggart wasn't playing cards he followed her around the barroom, even while she served drinks and passed time with the men and gals. Taggart was agile and quick to dodge fists, removing himself from Lillian's side when whatever fellow she chatted with threatened to knock him out.
When Kitty asked Lillian to join her for chilled apple cider the day after Chester came down with summer fever, Taggart ordered beer and trailed Lillian to Kitty's table. Kitty let him sit with them. He might take it easier if he knew ahead of time.
"I need a favor for a friend of mine, Lillian. Something you'll enjoy," said Kitty.
"If I'll enjoy it, your friend must be a handsome man, Kitty."
"I surely hope not," said Taggart. "Please say this friend of yours is a woman, Miss Kitty."
"My friend's a man," said Kitty. "He's sweet with fine brown eyes. Not like a romance play, but his face is pleasing to look at."
"Oh my heavens," said Taggart.
"I like men with sweet brown eyes," said Lillian. Her own eyes were large and luminously dark in an expressive face framed by waving tendrils of soft dark hair, her honey-colored complexion was silky and flawless and her mouth slightly full. Her beauty was that rare stunning sort that prompted people to stare, though she wore no cosmetics even in costume. About Kitty's height, her form was at once slender and womanly.
She was particular in regards to men. Kitty figured Lillian's ideal husband would have found her by the time she turned sixteen, were her skin lighter. Though she had many admirers, few who courted her proposed marriage, men with brown skin not excepted. From St. Louis, with parents and grandparents on both sides born in the U.S., Lillian's ancestry stemmed from Europe, Africa, and two American Indian tribes. Brown-skinned men were captivated by her yet afraid to ask for her hand, as she came from different groups and no one group at all.
The gambler proposed, though he'd known Lillian less than two full days. Like the attorney who married her sister, Taggart cared nothing for skin color or groups.
"His name is Chester Goode," said Kitty.
"Chester. You want nothing to do with him, Miss Lillian. He's the lawman's flunky, and a simpleton," said Taggart.
"Chester's no simpleton," Kitty snapped. "Call him a name like that again and you can take your beer to another table.
"He's assistant to another good friend of mine, Lillian. Marshal Dillon. Chester has summer fever, and he dreamed a beautiful woman came to him and kissed him. She asked him to take her to the dance. He thinks this lady is real, and he's waiting for her," said Kitty.
"That's just the sort of thing Chester's addled head would brew," said Taggart.
"Well, the lady is real. She's me," said Lillian.
"Oh no," said Taggart. "Please, Miss Lillian."
"I think Chester would want to meet you at his best, Lillian. He's still poorly," said Kitty.
"Let me know when you want me to see him, Kitty. Maybe he'll come here, and you can introduce me."
"Oh, if Chester sees you here, he'll introduce himself. He's real friendly with the ladies. Just tell him you're moving to Oregon soon, so he won't fall in love with you," said Kitty.
"He'll fall in love with you alright, Miss Lillian. It's not fair. I met you first," said Taggart.
"I am not marrying anyone in Dodge, Russ," Lillian said gently. "I told you."
"I'll likely never see you again when you leave town," said Taggart.
"Likely not," she said.
"Please go to the dance with me."
"I am going with Kitty's friend. Chester."
Taggart tossed back the rest of his beer, scraped his chair away from the table, rose and slapped his hat brim and trudged to the bar. Kitty and Lillian watched him a moment, then smiled at each other. "Russ thinks he loves me, but he can't possibly. He only met me yesterday. He knows nothing about me," said Lillian.
"Love at first sight," said Kitty. "It happens."
Lillian sipped her cider, looking quizzically at Kitty over her glass. "The lawman?"
Kitty studied the tabletop. "Matt . . . Marshal Dillon and I are close friends, like I said."
"I haven't met him. Is he handsome?"
"I think so."
At the bar, Taggart ordered a double whiskey and scowled into his glass. Though he knew little about Miss Lillian, he saw she was a woman who followed her own way, and he wouldn't waste time trying to sway her. He'd devise a plot to stop Chester from taking her to the dance instead.
Taggart couldn't trick Miss Lillian, but fooling a fellow like Chester would prove easy, since he had a fevered head, particular. Taggart had suffered summer complaint during last year's hot spell, and the sickness muddled a body 'til he couldn't tell the difference between the straight truth and a wild yarn if you paid him to do it.