MARDI GRAS MISUNDERSTANDING
Disclaimer: No ownership, no profit...just love and nostalgia for these wonderful characters.
Chapter Four
Kitty bared her soul to the three physicians, ready to tell them anything that would help Matt find his way back from wherever his mind had taken him.
When she had finished, the doctors agreed that hospital care was no longer a necessity, and Kitty willingly took him home to the little Victorian house on St. Ann Street with John Chapman stopping in daily to check on his physical condition and Etienne Picard, as a special favor to Chapman, stopping by every few days to evaluate his mental one.
Another week went by with no change in Matt's condition. Kitty refused all offers of help except for Celine, an elderly quadroon who lived nearby and came in as needed to assist with changing the sheets and doing the marketing. For the most part, her life now consisted of sitting at Matt's side by day and sleeping on the chaise lounge next to his bed at night. He was quiet and compliant most of the time, although his pathetic pleas for "Kitty"continued.
Each time he called her name, Kitty would whisper reassurance. "I'm here, Matt. Right here." To no avail.
On the eighth night after Kitty had brought him home, he appeared more agitated than usual, tossing and turning and calling her name over and over.
In his confused mind, Matt almost thought that he wasn't inside the hideous nightmare that had been tormenting his heart and soul, day and night for what seemed like forever. She seemed so close, so real. Maybe, maybe if he called again. "Kitty...please."
Her tender, loving heart breaking over her inability to reach him, she sat down on the edge of his bed, laced her fingers through his shaggy curls and tried once more. "I'm right here, Matt."
The tossing stopped as if by magic. "Ki...Kitty?" Eyes still closed, his big hands moved slowly to her upper arms and held her. His voice, weak and raspy, asked again, "Kitty?"
"Yeah, it's me, Matt. I'm right here." She held her breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
The blue eyes squinted open, blinked, and slowly focused on the beautiful face smiling down at him, the face of the woman he loved. "It's...really you. You're...here."
"It's really me. Welcome back, Cowboy."
His eyes scanned the unfamiliar room, a puzzled frown forming on his bruised face. "Wh..."
"You don't know where you are, do you? You're in New Orleans, at my house in the French Quarter. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you here."
Even in the dim lamplight, she could see the dark cloud lifting from his intense blue eyes.
"How...long?"
"You're not going to like this answer but, let's see, you've been here for eight days and you were in the hospital a week before that, and in the ward for three days before that, so it's about 18-19 days since you were attacked."
"Attacked?"
"Don't you remember? From what we can piece together, you came in on the evening train and were attacked as you were leaving the depot. At least that's what we think happened because a carriage driver found you in the street about a block from there. Is any of this sounding familiar?"
Matt frowned again and shook his head.
"Well, don't worry about it now. Fortunately the driver took you to Charity Hospital. Since you had no identification, money or baggage, they put you in the indigent ward. John Chapman makes rounds there twice a week and recognized you, so he..."
At the mention of Chapman's name, Matt became noticeably agitated, moving restlessly in the big bed, trying to get up.
"I've gotta get...out of...here, Kitty."
"Matt!" She pressed her palm firmly against his bare chest. "You've been unconscious for nearly three weeks and now you want to go running off somewhere? I don't think so! Just lie back and get some rest. I'll make a nice soup you can have when you wake up. Just sleep now, Matt. Please."
The small effort of attempting to push his big frame upward had sapped all of his strength, and the next time Matt awoke, it was to the sound of Kitty's voice talking to someone in the next room. "He seemed fine...well, maybe not fine, but he was alert and carrying on a conversation. Then he got really agitated about something and tried to get up. He couldn't, of course, so I told him to go back to sleep, and I sent Celine to get you."
"What happened just before he got agitated; what were you talking about?"
"Well, I told him he had been attacked, that a carriage driver had taken him to the hospital, and that you had recognized him when you made your rounds. Come to think of it, he seemed okay until I mentioned your name."
"That's all...nothing else?"
"Not a thing, John."
"Let me take a look at him."
John Chapman entered the guest room where Matt lay staring at the ceiling. His eyes were open, but he squeezed them tight and grimaced when Chapman said, "How are you feeling, Marshal?"
"I've felt better," came Matt's characteristic reply.
"I'm sure you have, but you have no idea how glad we are to see your eyes open and to hear you talking, especially this lovely lady here. Now what's this about your trying to get out of bed?"
"I need...gotta go...Kitty doesn't want..." And he stopped, as if suddenly aware of his audience.
"Well, in about another two weeks we'll talk about getting you out of that bed. In the meantime, I want you to stay right here and do exactly what Kitty tells you. She's an excellent nurse, you know."
Matt turned remorseful blue eyes toward Kitty. "I've given her plenty of practice over the years."
She smiled gently. "Yeah, you sure have. Now, how about that soup...it's potato with leeks."
"Sounds great. I'll try, Kitty."
Turning to leave, Chapman reiterated, "You listen to her, Matt. I'll check on you again tomorrow." He had already stepped into the next room when Matt called from the bed.
"Uh, Doctor, what's this...this thing on my leg?" He pointed to the hinged wooden frame encasing his right knee.
"It's a brace, Matt. That knee has taken a lot of abuse over the years. The kneecap is almost totally torn from the supporting muscles and tendons. The orthopaedic surgeon could move it back and forth easily with just his bare hand. The brace should help to hold the kneecap in place until the muscles and tendons are strong again."
"How long until I can walk again?"
"Truthfully, I don't know, but I'll send Bob Zeigler over here tomorrow to talk to you about it. He's the best ortho man this city has."
Matt nodded. "I'm obliged, Doctor."
Standing at the foot of the bed, Kitty placed a hand on his leg. "I'll see John out and be right back with a tray. In the meantime, don't move!"
The big man grinned sheepishly, "Yes, ma'am."