Hard Promises to Keep
All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.
Author's Note: Beef tea was one of the most recommended supportive foods for critically ill patients in the 19th century. It was made by cutting up a lean piece of beef into dice-sized cubes, pouring a pint of cold water over it, and allowing it to sit beside the fire for ten minutes. Sometimes the contents were placed in a water bath and brought to a boil before being set aside to cool. The fats were skimmed and solids removed. The resulting liquid contained several nutritional components which were easily absorbed by those with severely debilitated systems and could be seasoned to taste with salt and medicinal spices like ginger or cayenne pepper. Additionally, if blood had been lost, marrow bones might be added as it as thought the marrow aided in blood replacement.
"You come for me in the worst of places
You come for me, you come and try to take me home
I'm always in need and it's hard to be reciprocating
The fabric of our life gets torn"
-- "Everybody Knows" performed by Ryan Adams
Chapter 14
A deathly silence permeated the Long Branch along with the bluish haze of gun smoke. Sounds registered first: the wail of an upset child, the stifled sobs of several saloon girls, murmurs from patrons as they began crawling out of their hiding places to right the tables and chairs. Kitty cautiously lifted her head and anxiously scanned the room. She had instinctively thrown herself prone, protecting Sam, when the shooting started and hadn't been able to tell what had happened to the marshal.
She didn't see him anywhere.
Fear wrapped itself around her heart like a fist and squeezed.
He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.
Sam groaned and opened his eyes. "Miss Kitty?"
"Here, Sam," she answered, keeping her voice calm and steady. "Everything will be all right." Will it? What am I going to do if Matt's gone? What will I tell Rose? "You took a pretty bad blow to the head. Just lie still until Doc gets here." She wondered if anyone had had the presence of mind to send for him yet. To give her hands something to do, Kitty deftly bandaged the profusely bleeding cut on the back of Sam's head with strips torn from her petticoat. Her wrist ached; she stared at the dark bruises coming up on her fair skin and wondered if Westfeldt had broken it.
Sam, ignoring Kitty's protests, sat up and pulled himself into a nearby chair. "Stop frettin' at me, Miss Kitty. I'll be all right. It takes more than scum like that to keep me down. You see to the Marshal."
Kitty followed the direction of Sam's slight nod and finally spotted the marshal. He's alive! One of the overturned tables, which her girls had righted and moved aside, had hidden him from view. Matt sat at the foot of the stairs where he'd fallen, his long legs folded up under him like an ungainly newborn colt. Blood seeped up steadily from between the fingers of his hand, which were closed over a wound high on his left arm. The expression on his face reminded Kitty of a boy with skinned knees who wanted badly to cry but knew he was too old to do so.
Kitty stood, brushed off her skirt, and assumed a more businesslike composure. "You girls, help Rudy get this mess cleaned up. Rudy, let's have drinks on the house. I think we could all use one."
As her saloon girls hastened to obey her directives, Kitty hurried to Matt and knelt beside him. His eyes, when she looked into them, were glazed and unfocused; her uninjured hand gently brushed against his cheek. "Matt. Matt, let me see. Is it bad?"
Matt made an effort to control his voice and tried to reassure her but his answer still came out as a raspy, pain soaked whisper. "Just a graze. Nothing worth worrying over. Are you all right, Kitty?"
"Oh, I'm just dandy," Kitty responded. Relief and continued concern for Matt's wellbeing made her voice sharper than intended.
His gaze drifted to the bruises on her wrist. "You're hurt."
"So are you," said Kitty, noting how much blood had soaked his sleeve. "That's more than a graze, Matt." She sighed as she tore more strips from her petticoat. I don't know why I bother wearing these damned things. They always seem to get torn up! She bound up the wound to slow the bleeding and used another scrap to wipe his hand clean. "You hold that there," she said. "I'm sure Doc will be along directly."
"Where are Festus and Newly?"
"Newly's over to the jail locking up the two ruffians who were tearing up the place. I think Festus lit out after Westfeldt and O'Malley."
"There's something you're not telling me."
She couldn't meet his eyes, didn't want to see the self recrimination in them because she knew he would take what she had to tell him hard. Still, there was no way to keep it from him. "They got Fancy."
Ignoring the pain and how ill he felt, Matt shoved his back up against the wall and tried to rise. He couldn't manage it and fell against the stairway panting. "I…I gotta…."
"Just what do you think you're doing?" Kitty asked sharply.
He pulled himself to his knees and managed to wrap the hand of his uninjured arm around the banister. In another moment, Matt was standing, although none too steadily. "I'm going after them. Have someone bring my horse around."
Kitty got awkwardly to her feet and put a stabilizing arm around the big man's waist. She was dreadfully afraid he would fall. "Matt, no. This is foolishness. You can't sit a horse, you can barely stand! Sit back down before you hurt yourself."
Matt was a proud man, duty bound and conscientious of his obligations, but he wasn't stupid. He knew he couldn't ride. Telling himself he was giving in for Kitty's sake, he let her guide him to the bottom riser where the two of them sat leaning against one another. Matt lowered his head to Kitty's shoulder. "I had to try, Kitty."
Kitty allowed the fingers of her uninjured hand to twine though Matt's wild curls. "I know you did." She had the distinct impression he wasn't talking just about going after Westfeldt and O'Malley.
"Mad at me?" Matt asked softly.
"Simply furious!" The love and devotion in her blue eyes gave the lie to the furor in her voice. A fond smile curved her lips as she patted his thigh. "You and I will be talking about this later, though."
A bone rattling cough shook the big man and he moaned, leaning harder against her. "Kitty, I…I really don't feel right."
Kitty sighed, debating whether or not she ought to say something to Doc Adams about Matt's earlier antics. The last thing Matt needs right now is a good chewing out but Doc's too smart not to notice he's in worse shape than a bullet graze would account for. She covered her worry with anger. "Where the heck is Doc? He ought to have been here by now."
The batwing doors slammed open with unnecessary force and the physician shuffled his way down into the Long Branch. Kitty watched Doc conversing briefly with Sam as he examined the man, saw the bartender nod and then head for his room. The dour little doctor then turned his professional attention to the redheaded proprietress of the Long Branch and the marshal.
Just great, Kitty thought as she saw the expression on Doc's face, he's spoiling for a fight. Wonder what's got him all riled up.
"Nice of you to join us, Doc," Matt greeted.
Doc glanced quickly at Matt and figured he must not be too bad of if he was using that dry wit of his. "Ran into a couple of your friends," Doc responded cryptically. "The big fat fella insisted I patch up his gunfighter pal before they left town."
Matt's eyes had gone cold and stony. "They got away then."
"You plugged him good, Matt," Doc said. "Rather doubt O'Malley will be shooting with it any time soon, if he can at all."
"That doesn't matter," Matt persisted. "My aim was off. I meant to kill him!" The vehemence of his protest ended in a bitten back yowl of pain as he inadvertently flexed the torn muscles. Kitty tried to comfort him but her own injury prevented her from doing so.
Doc rolled his eyes and swiped at his mustache. "The pair of you!" he exclaimed in mock disgust. "Think you can make it back up the stairs?"
Kitty's smile was strained but her voice reflected the relief she felt that Matt was alive and that Doc was there to set things right. "We'll do just fine. C'mon, Matt," she said, gently assisting him to his feet.
With Doc's help, the two of them got the big man back to Kitty's suite. Matt wouldn't have told either of them, but he had never been so glad to see a bed. Doc wanted to attend to the bullet wound first, but Matt stubbornly refused. "See to Kitty first," he insisted, reclining back on the pillows. "I'll do."
"Right, right," Doc Adams responded, miffed, "and I suppose in order to get everything done around here, I simply must do it your way because of course you know better than your physician! Kitty, let me see that arm of yours."
"It doesn't bother me much," Kitty protested but refrained from arguing further with him when she saw the storm clouds gathering in his eyes. No point in aggravating him when he's in a mood like this.
"Well," said Doc a few minutes later as he bound up the wrist, "you've been lucky, young lady. It's bruised down to the bone, but I don't think it's broken." He finished tying off the bindings and then gently laid the hand back in her lap. "There, that ought to feel better."
Kitty nodded and favored the cranky old doctor with a small smile. "It does. Thanks, Doc." She turned slightly and pinned the marshal with a no-nonsense glare. "Your turn, Matt, and no fuss. You'll let Doc do what he needs to do."
Matt, in no condition to give either of them a hard time, gave a slight nod. "Yes, ma'am," he said with apparent meekness but a boyish smile played around in his eyes.
"You!" Doc Adams grumped, by no means appeased. "I would have sworn I've told you twice now not to step foot out of these rooms or that bed. You got an allergy to living or something, Matt? Good heavens -- traipsing around half dressed, getting shot at! You're lucky to still be breathing."
Matt understood that he had badly frightened his friend. Touched by the old physician's show of emotion, he said quietly, "I know it, Doc."
"Hmmph." In spite of his irritation at the marshal, the doctor's hands were very gentle as he removed the makeshift bandage. Fresh blood welled up as soon as the pressure was released and Matt paled. Doc Adams doused his hands with alcohol, rinsed them in the basin Kitty had provided, and jerked his head toward a small surgical pack. "Sterilize the rest of those for me, would you, honey?" He didn't wait for her to acknowledge his request, knowing Kitty would do exactly what he had asked, and turned his attention back to Matt. The old man's fingers nimbly reached for a probe and expertly assessed the damage. Matt bore the digging stoically until Doc Adams hit a particularly tender spot. "That hurts, does it?" he asked.
"Yeah," panted Matt, raising his eyes toward the ceiling, "it does. What are you using, Doc, a spade?"
"Is it bad?" Kitty asked.
"Bad enough," Doc responded. "The bullet might have creased or chipped the bone. I'm gonna have take the bullet out and then stitch this up, Matt. You want something for it?"
Matt, in spite of Kitty's piercing expression of disapproval, shook his head. "I already feel bad enough. Don't give me any more laudanum or put me under. Just get it over with."
"It's your hide." Doc's acidic response lacked its usual venom, for he knew how much the marshal hated experiencing the side effects of the anesthetic and painkillers. Besides, he's in bad enough shape. I'm not sure it would be medically sound to give him anything else.
When Doc poured alcohol into the wound and began flushing it, Matt winced but did not cry out. He bit his lip and his complexion became steadily greyer as Doc pried the bullet from its resting place against the bone. Finally, unable to take the pain any longer, his eyes rolled closed and Matt went limp.
"Doc?" Kitty questioned anxiously.
"Oh he's all right, Kitty," Doc said confidently as he dropped the projectile into the basin. "He's just passed out. It's probably easier on him if he's not aware of what I'm doing." The old physician carefully stitched the last layer closed and then tied on a clean bandage. Finished tending the wound, Doc automatically checked Matt's vitals. "He looks thin. He been eating anything, Kitty?"
Kitty shook her head. "Not much. He'll take a few spoonfuls of broth and then says he's had enough. Both Sam and Festus said Matt hasn't even tried to eat the past few days. Doc, can't you cut back on the quinine, let him get some of his appetite back?"
"Well no, Kitty, I can't," Doc replied, tugging at his ear in agitation. "The quinine is the only thing keeping the pneumonia in check. If the infection gets into both lungs, we could lose him. But you're right; Matt needs to be eating something. You know how to make a beef tea?"
"I can," Kitty said slowly, "and I've got the ingredients for it in the kitchen downstairs."
"Good," said Doc. "You fix up a batch of that and feed it to him a little at a time, even if he doesn't want to eat. Add a few marrow bones as well, if he tolerates it; that'll help build up some of the blood Matt's lost. He might fever up a bit; you know how it is with wounds like these. If you run into anything you can't handle, come get me." Looking at the two people whose lives he valued most in the world, Doc Adam's expression changed to one of fatherly tenderness. He hadn't the words to tell either of them how scared he'd been, how worried for their safety, and how guilty he'd felt about being delayed by the ones who had injured them. Doc caught Kitty looking at him, studying his face, and quickly assumed his customary scowl. "Now, if it's not too much trouble, I'd appreciate it if the two of you would stay out of mischief for a day or so. I'm going to get some sleep!"
Kitty, struck by the oddly chosen words, placed a hand on Doc Adam's arm. "Just how much do you know about what went on today?" she asked.
"I know enough," growled Doc as he put his crumpled black hat back on. "Enough to know that a certain redhead ended up going for a swim in the horse trough yesterday because she couldn't keep her mouth shut. Enough to know that the overgrown stallion our high and mighty marshal usually favors seems to have taken a stroll out on the prairie all by his lonesome and come back exhausted. Oh, I know enough all right! Good heavens, the lot of you give me conniption fits! Good night!"
"Good night, Curley," Kitty said, chuckling, as she kissed him on the cheek and closed the door. She called one of her girls in and explained what needed done in the kitchen and then, seeing Matt was still unconscious or asleep, took a few minutes to look in on their surrogate daughter.
Rose, sitting quietly amid the pillows on her bed, dropped the doll she had been clutching so tightly and launched herself at Kitty as soon as she saw her. "Miss Kitty, I'm so glad you came! Papa Matt told me to stay in here until one of you came an' got me."
"Papa Matt's a smart man." Most of the time, anyway. "It was very good of you to do like he said and I'm proud of you. Everything's all right now," Kitty assured her, stroking the little girl's bright curls. Almost. Maybe she won't ask about Matt.
"Good!" Rose said. She grabbed her doll and ran over to the love seat. "Come sit with me," she ordered. Kitty obligingly did as the little one asked and they spent a few minutes together straightening the doll's clothes and hair. "I heard guns an' I was awful scared. Did Papa Matt get those bad men, Miss Kitty?"
"Not exactly. Your Uncle Festus is out chasing them on Ruth."
"Oh. Unca Festus'll get those mean men, won't he? But...was Papa Matt hurt again?" Rose asked, her green eyes serious.
Damn Matt and his badge anyway! She's getting to be too smart for her own good; there are some things a child just shouldn't have to worry about. How to answer that one? Kitty finally decided that some version of the truth was the only acceptable response. "Yeah, he was," she told Rose, "but only a little bit and he'll be just fine. You'll see. Grandpa Doc patched him up, just like I do your dolly when she gets a rip."
"Papa Matt should've stayed in bed like he was 'sposed to," Rose declared, frowning.
"He sure should have!" Kitty agreed with a shaky laugh as she hugged the little girl. "Have you had your supper?"
Rose nodded. "Mr. Sam brought it up and Fancy ate with me. Is Fancy gonna put me to bed?"
The question pricked Kitty's conscience; she had been so worried about Matt that she had momentarily forgotten that Westfeldt took Fancy with him. I sure hope Festus comes back with her even if he never catches Westfeldt. "Not tonight, Rosie," she responded, "but one of the other girls should be up directly." Kitty kissed the top of Rose's head and stood. "Now I've got to get back to Papa Matt. You be a good girl, all right?"
"I will; I promise." The girl reached up to give Kitty a tight little hug, "I still wish you'd a let me call you Mama Kitty."
Kitty rolled her eyes skyward and helped Rose stretch out with her dolly so she could be tucked in, "Well, Rosie, we've covered that territory already. Not now --or ever-- will I be known as Mama Kitty. Now go to sleep!" She tickled Rose's tummy and prepared to exit the room.
"Miss Kitty?"
Kitty sighed inwardly; she loved the little girl but sometimes being a parent was awfully demanding. "One more question, Rose," she admonished, "and then I really must go."
"Can I go back with you and visit Papa Matt?"
Rose hadn't been allowed to see the marshal since he'd gotten sick. At first, Doctor Adams had feared her coming down with the same illness; later, he and Kitty had agreed it would be less upsetting for the child if she didn't see Matt while he was so ill. It was on the tip of Kitty's tongue to tell her no, but the mute appeal in her daughter's eyes changed that. "Perhaps tomorrow, if he's feeling up to it. Let's let him rest for now, okay?"
If that wasn't the answer she had been looking for, Rose didn't show it. Instead, she smiled and said. "All right. G'night."
"Good night, sweetheart."
Kitty walked slowly back to her suite, her heart thoughtful. As she approached the bed, Matt opened his eyes and smiled sleepily. "Hello, beautiful."
She took his hand carefully in hers and smiled back. "How are you feeling, Matt?"
"Like hell," he conceded candidly. Chagrin showed plainly in his eyes. "I don't think you'll have any problems convincing me to stay in bed for a while."
A wry smile quirked her lips. "Your daughter told me to tell you in no uncertain terms that you should have stayed there in the first place."
Matt's chuckle turned into another spasm of coughing. He waited for it to subside before he responded. "She's all right?"
Kitty nodded. "The gunshots frightened her, but she said you told her to go into her room and stay there until one of us said it was safe again."
"I did. Fancy was bringing her downstairs when the ruckus broke out. If I hadn't told her to go back to her room, Westfeldt would have had her too." His face showed regret. "I wish I could have stopped Fancy; I tried!"
"Do you think Festus will be able to bring her back?"
"I'd stake my life on it. There's nobody better for the job, Kitty, you know that." He squeezed her hand and said, "Don't worry; like as not, she'll be back before anyone notices she's gone."
Kitty softly bit at her bottom lip, "For Rosie's sake, I hope that's true."
A polite knock at the door sounded. Kitty rose and answered it. A vivacious blond, whom Kitty recalled being quite popular with her customers because of her unusually curvy proportions, stood in the hall. "Miss Kitty, I have the broth you asked for. I prepared it exactly as you told me."
"Thanks, Vera, I appreciate it. How's Sam doing?"
"Well, he wouldn't do like Doc told him and go to bed for the rest of the night but we girls did persuade him to just sit behind the bar and let us do most of the work." Vera rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Men!"
"Tell me about it," said Kitty with an enigmatic smile. She put her hand on the woman's arm. "Vera, I'd be grateful if you'd take care of Rose tonight. Normally I'd be asking Fancy to do this, but…"
"It's all right, Miss Kitty, I understand. Besides, Rosie never gives any of us trouble. She's a sweet child." Vera tilted her head as if considering whether or not to ask her next question. Curiosity won out. "Is she yours and the Marshal's, Miss Kitty?"
The inquiry caught Kitty off guard; many of the townspeople had, of course, speculated on Rose's parentage but most had eventually assumed she belonged to one of Kitty's girls. Although Kitty and Matt had never actually made any clear statements regarding their positions on marriage, having children, and raising them at the Long Branch years ago, the citizen of Dodge had, years ago, formed their own hodge-podge of conclusions. Yet, no matter what those conclusions might have been, no one had ever been bold enough to step up to them and outright ask. Vera, however, had only been in Dodge short of a year and apparently was truly innocent and unaware of how far down a private road she'd ventured, or at what risk.
After holding Vera in a long, probing stare --that ended only when Vera was forced to drop her gaze --Kitty allowed a hint of a smile to curve her lips. "No," said Kitty wistfully, "but she could have been. Rose is family of a sort and that's all anyone needs to know." Kitty laid a gentle hand on Vera's arm. "Thanks for taking care of things for me, Vera."
Kitty watched the woman go downstairs. The regulars, mostly farmers and ranch hands, greeted Vera with cheerful catcalls and the occasional bawdy remark. Vera handled the still slightly rattled crowd with apparent ease: a lingering touch along the shoulder here, a saucy return of laughter to the bawdy, though playful, remark there. Once Kitty was certain the saloon girl wasn't being bothered, she took the warm jar of beef tea back to her suite and closed the door.