Seven
Harris escorted them to the door, and ordered the guard to let them out the gate. The hansom cab was waiting. The driver gave Matt a scornful look, "He better not be infesting my carriage with no lice and such. I carries around respectable folks in this here buggy."
Kitty ignored the driver's rudeness and looked to Matt hopefully. The niceties she'd come to expect over the years, were missing; there was no helping hand into the carriage. He stood like a voodoo zombie, staring straight ahead, his expression void of character or intelligence. She climbed in and waited for him to follow, when he didn't she reached out and grabbed his hand, "Come on." she encouraged, "It's alright, get in." She amended her line of thought, the least of things missing were the niceties. He looked at her, and their eyes made brief contact. For that fraction of a second, she thought she saw an emotion cross his features. She tried to put a tag on it, "bewilderment, fear, pain..." She couldn't be sure of its identity or even its existence for it was as ephemeral as the trail of a falling star.
A part of her had been certain, from the moment she'd stepped into the asylum that this was all some sort of ruse, part of Wilcox's elaborate scheme. Matt's mind was perfectly in tact, how could it be otherwise, but now, with sudden and absolute clarity she understood he was less than a child in an adult's body. There was little left of the man she'd known and loved except for a poor imitation of the original shell. Her voice was gentle, "Come on, it's alright, climb in."
The driver was watching mean eyed, "Don't like it, don't like it one bit," he muttered in a disagreeable voice. "Don't like driving around no rejects from the loony farm, they're apt to stab you in the back as look at you. Don't like it one bit."
"You hush up there." Kitty scolded, she patted the seat next to her and Matt sat down. The carriage started with a jerk, catching him off guard and he made a distressed sound from deep in his throat. She grabbed for his hand and squeezed it tight, "it's alright. I'm here with you now, Kitty's here with you now."
The carriage made its way along cobblestone streets lined with large framed homes decorated in elaborate gingerbread and stained glass -through the business district where factories spouted darkened steam into the gray October sky. They rolled past smaller brick homes planted close together with tiny front yards and youngsters playing stickball in the street. Until eventually they turned down a back road, paved only by hard packed clay. The houses were father apart here, smaller framed cottages, encircled by white picket fences, their gardens still holding the last of the summer's harvest of vegetables and flowers. In this neighborhood the back yards stretched the distance to a picturesque river that meandered in concordance with the road. It was in front of one such house that the carriage stopped. "Here you be lady, 1212 Lincoln. You owe me two bits."
She paid him the fare and he unloaded her baggage placing it aside the road. He made no effort to carry the carpetbags to the house for her and she decided against asking him. Leaving the bags she grabbed Matt's hand and pulled him along with her to the porch where she sat him on the swing. "You stay; I'm just going to fetch my things."
She saw his blank face clouded by the vague expression again. "I'll be right back." She promised patting his hand. She hurried through the gate to the street, the bags were heavy and she had to make two trips.
Fishing though her handbag she located the key Mr. Wilcox had given her, she fumbled with it, and for a moment she feared the door wouldn't open, but finally it gave way. "Well let's see our new house." The irony of her words didn't' hit her until later when she realized the scenario she'd dreamed of had taken a cruel turn.
Though small, the home looked comfortable. Divided into two halves, one side housed parlor, dining room and kitchen while the other consisted of a pair of bedrooms separated by a washroom. She led him through the house until they reached the kitchen. "I expect you're tired, you've had a big day and it's not even half over with. You sit here; I'll be right back I just want to put my bags away." She was gone only minutes, but when she came back he was asleep, his head resting on the table, cradled in his arms. She stared at him then, taking inventory of the changes. His hair was long and unruly looking as though someone had used a scissors to it, at some point, in an attempt to get it under control. A month or more worth of beard covered his face. His powerful shoulder and bicep muscles had atrophied to some extent making him look fragile in comparison to the man he'd been. The clothes they'd provide him with were standard issue for a ward of a county institution. Made of coarse cotton they consisted of a crude shirt and draw stringed britches, both too short for his long limbs.
"Oh Matt," she sighed, "Where do we start? How do I get you back?"
GS GS GS
Her thoughts were scattered, and she sat down at the table across from him to try and organize them. Kitty had always been a woman of detail and order. Despite her tendency to rush head long into a situation she generally lived by her intellect not her intuition; their own personal history had dictated when both those failed she lived in trust that Matt Dillon would always be on hand to save the day. Now it was his survival, which rested in her hands, and she felt ill equipped to deal with the situation.
She reached out a hand to brush the wayward hair from his forehead. He felt warm to the touch as though he had the beginnings of a fever. She wished for Doc's counsel, and tried to imagine what the old man's level headed advise might be. His wounds would need tending. Good food in his belly and plenty of rest were also essential to the healing process. She reckoned, if his mind needed healing this common sense prescription would work there as well. This was the more difficult of her task in bringing him back to health. She'd had enough experience tending to gunshot wounds, and fevers to understand the treatment, but how did one set about retrieving a lost mind? Where did she go to find it? She realized patience, never one of her strong suites, would be her immediate ally. If his mind was indeed that of a young child, then that is how she would treat him, kindly, firmly, and lovingly.
Wilcox had hinted the cottage would be supplied for their immediate needs. She rose from the table and took stock of the kitchen. It was a bright, cheerful room, its walls painted yellow, and the cupboards white. Off to the side, a back door led to a screened porch with an excellent view of the river. The view drew her into the outdoor room for a closer look. The sun had come out. The fall colors were just beginning to show autumn's hue, on the trees along the water's edge. She noted the homes on the other side of the river were grander than the cottages along Lincoln Avenue – summer homes to the wealthy she surmised. This would be a pleasant spot to relax, for a large white wicker sofa sat against the wall looking toward the water.
Back in the kitchen she studied the stove; it was small but modern, a pile of wood sat next to it along with kindling for starters. There was an icebox near the cupboard, and a small pantry off the kitchen. She checked these out and found them both full, seeing the food brought rise to the fact she was hungry. She hadn't had anything in her stomach since the previous day. Hastily she located a frying pan and lit the stove.
She had to wake him to eat, a situation that struck her as unusual and presented itself as just another indication of how many things had changed. Not giving thought to Lilly's advice regarding his eating habits, she'd fried eggs leaving the yolk soft just the way he'd always liked them. She'd placed the plate in front of him and rubbed his shoulder hoping to gently rouse him. But, he awoke with a start, "Here you go," she soothed, "I bet you're hungry." For a long moment he stared at the food. "Go ahead," she prompted, "Don't wait for me, mine is still frying, no sense your food getting cold." Still he remained motionless, "you must be hungry," she encouraged.
His hand made an awkward move and landed in the middle of the oozing yolk before he brought it to his face, some of the egg landed in his mouth, but most was smeared over his cheeks and whiskers. She bit at her lip before removing the frying pan from the fire and taking the seat next to him. "That's okay, I'll help you." She took his hand and wiped it with her apron. "I expect everything seems mighty confusing right now, but I'm here and I'm going to take good care of you. You'll see pretty soon things will start making sense again."
She picked up his fork and began feeding him, encouraging him with her smile and tender voice. He ate well, and it was clear to her there were at least traces of his old hearty appetite. Afterward she washed him up. Lilly had said he could take care of his body functions and she figured this was a good time to give him a tour of the house. They walked slowly from room to room and as they did she made small conversation, pointing things out to him, at the water closet, she encouraged him to relieve himself. She considered it a small success when he did.
Afterward she took him out to the screened porch where they sat side by side on the wicker sofa. She so badly wanted to bring up memories of their life before, their life together, but mindful of Mr. Wilcox's warning, she kept her conversation on the present. Most of it was little more than thinking out loud.
"We need to get you some clothes and shoes Cowboy; then we'll take nice walks together. Fresh air and sunshine will help you get your strength back. I bet there's some good fishing in that river. I'll have to take a look after while and see if I can rustle us up some fishing poles. Nothing like an afternoon of fishing to take your mind off your troubles." She felt him sagging against her. He was asleep again. She reached for his hand and enfolded it in her own, as she closed her eyes as well. She was glad for the moment and thankful to be back by his side.